{"product_id":"the-vanishing-deep-isbn-9780525513971","title":"The Vanishing Deep","description":"\u003cb\u003eBestselling author Astrid Scholte returns with a thrilling adventure in which the dead can be revived . . . for a price. Now in paperback.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEver since her sister, Elysea, drowned, seventeen-year-old Tempe's been looking for answers. And for a price, Tempe will finally get them . . . from her dead sister. On the nearby island of Palindromena, the research facility, once paid, will revive the dearly departed for a period of twenty-four hours before returning them to death.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt isn't a heartfelt reunion that Tempe is after, though. Elysea died keeping a terrible secret, one that has ignited an unquenchable fury in Tempe: finally, she'll know the truth about their parents' deaths.\u003cbr\u003e \u003cbr\u003eInstead of answers, Elysea persuades Tempe to break her out of the facility to embark on a dangerous journey to discover the truth and mend their broken bond before Elysea's time runs out. Complicating matters, they're pursued every step of the way by two Palindromena employees desperate to find them before the secret behind the revival process and the true cost of restored life is revealed.\u003cb\u003e\u003cu\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eThe Vanishing Deep:\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/u\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA 2022 Isinglass Teen Readers' Choice Award Long List Pick\u003cbr\u003eA 2021 Texas Tayshas Reading List Pick\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA \u003cb\u003eSpring 2020\u003c\/b\u003e Apple Most Anticipated Book\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “This \u003cb\u003eriveting YA thriller\u003c\/b\u003e . . . is among the \u003cb\u003emost exciting \u003c\/b\u003estuff being put out in the genre right now.” —\u003ci\u003eEntertainment Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“An \u003cb\u003eimmersive\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003cb\u003efast-paced\u003c\/b\u003e story about survival, grief, guilt, and second chances.” —\u003ci\u003eSchool Library Journal\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e “Tensions [are kept] high as the characters explore a \u003cb\u003edetailed\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003cb\u003einventive\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003cb\u003elovingly crafted\u003c\/b\u003e world . . . the narrative’s sea legs come through \u003cb\u003edeep, resonant\u003c\/b\u003e characterizations and the characters’ intense emotional inner lives. \u003cb\u003eA seaworthy stand-alone\u003c\/b\u003e.” —\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"[In] this \u003cb\u003efast-paced ecological thriller\u003c\/b\u003e . . . Scholte builds \u003cb\u003epalpable suspense\u003c\/b\u003e through Lor and Tempe's alternating narratives while \u003cb\u003eoffering timely commentary\u003c\/b\u003e on sustainability and responsible stewardship of land and sea.\" —\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003cb\u003eScholte's intricate world building stands out\u003c\/b\u003e from the usual run of post-apocalyptic novels, with a particular emphasis on the effects of a world steeped in overconsumption and an eco-apocalypse. . . Readers will be left with deep questions about personal sacrifice and emotional closure.\" —\u003ci\u003eThe \u003ci\u003eBulletin of the Center for Children’s Books\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\u003cu\u003ePraise for \u003ci\u003eFour Dead Queens\u003c\/i\u003e:\u003c\/u\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAn Indie Bestseller\u003cbr\u003eAn Amazon Best Book — March 2019\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eA Blue Spruce Book Award Nominee – 2020\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003eA Texas Tayshas Reading List Pick – 2020\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A good, devious mix of some of \u003cb\u003ethe best fantasy and murder mystery that YA has had to offer recently\u003c\/b\u003e.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003eEntertainment Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Astrid Scholte's propulsive debut YA novel checks all the boxes for \u003cb\u003ean addictive read\u003c\/b\u003e.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003eRefinery29\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003ci\u003eFour Dead Queens\u003c\/i\u003e is \u003cb\u003ea darkly delicious tale\u003c\/b\u003e that keeps you in constant suspense. A thrilling, genre-blending book \u003cb\u003eperfect for fans of both fantasy and murder mysteries\u003c\/b\u003e. I just might be the fifth dead queen because this story—with its labyrinthine twists and turns—slayed me in every possible way.” \u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003eKerri Maniscalco, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of the Stalking Jack the Ripper series\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"[An] \u003cb\u003eexciting\u003c\/b\u003e fantasy debut . . . \u003cb\u003estunning\u003c\/b\u003e.\" —\u003ci\u003ePaste\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003eA cinematic thrill ride\u003c\/b\u003e brimming with murder, mayhem, and twists that will shock you, \u003ci\u003eFour Dead Queens\u003c\/i\u003e is sure to be your next obsession. \u003cb\u003eAbsolutely riveting\u003c\/b\u003e.” —Sarah Glenn Marsh, author of the Reign of the Fallen series\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Astrid Scholte breaks into the fantasy genre with \u003cb\u003ea triumphant, exciting debut\u003c\/b\u003e that will keep readers guessing all the way to final chapter. \u003ci\u003eFour Dead Queens\u003c\/i\u003e is not to be missed!” \u003cb\u003e—\u003c\/b\u003eBeth Revis, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eGive the Dark My Love\u003c\/i\u003eRaised on a diet of Spielberg, Lucas and Disney, Astrid Scholte knew she wanted to be surrounded by all things fantastical from a young age. She's spent the last ten years working in film, animation and television as both an artist and a manager. Career highlights include working on James Cameron's \u003ci\u003eAvatar\u003c\/i\u003e, Steven Spielberg's \u003ci\u003eThe Adventures of Tintin\u003c\/i\u003e and George Miller's \u003ci\u003eHappy Feet Two\u003c\/i\u003e. She lives in Melbourne, Australia, with her fiancé and two cats, Lilo and Mickey. Her debut YA novel, \u003ci\u003eFour Dead Queens\u003c\/i\u003e, was an international bestseller.\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eChapter One\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eTempest\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cb\u003eSunday, 8:00 a.m.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI didn’t want to resurrect my sister because I loved her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI didn’t want one final goodbye, to whisper words left unsaid or clear my conscience of any slights between us. I didn’t want to hear her voice say my name, \u003ci\u003eTempe\u003c\/i\u003e, one last time.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI wanted to soothe the anger that scorched through me. An anger that had a life of its own, taking hold within me, propelling me to action—even on the days when I was exhausted from the early-morning dive, even when I’d had enough of this scrappy life.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI wanted to drown memories of her long dark hair, curling in the water as she dove deeper ahead of me, always knowing where to search next. I wanted to extinguish memories of her dancer limbs twirling above her head as storms raged nearby. I wanted to forget her now-silenced bell-like voice once and for all.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs much as the thought of her name angered me, the thought of never hearing it again angered me even more.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHer name had begun to fade in the two years since her death, like the last rumble of thunder in a storm. In the beginning, friends—all Elysea’s—would say \u003ci\u003eyour sister\u003c\/i\u003e, as if saying her name would send a fresh wave of tears down my already flushed cheeks. Then, as days turned into weeks, her name was said soft and tentative, signaling to me that it was time to start moving on. To get out of bed, to live my life.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen weeks turned into months, people stopped speaking about her altogether. As though she never existed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThen I’d heard something that changed how I felt about her, transforming my grief to anger.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSo now I \u003ci\u003eneeded\u003c\/i\u003e to hear her voice one last time. I needed the truth. And for that, I needed to resurrect her.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eNeither of us could rest until then.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe boat shifted with the waves; I adjusted my footing so I didn’t fall into the sea. The \u003ci\u003eSunrise\u003c\/i\u003e had been my parents’ transportation to work. Small, but swift. The shell-colored deck was triangular, with two “wings” underneath the stern of the boat, which hooked down and into the water to keep balance at high speeds. A cramped cabin was suspended below, its belly dipping into the sea like an overfed familfish.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI gazed at the deep blue waters. From above, you could see a slight turbulence beneath—a hint of something other than sand, salt and sea.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA sunken city—one that I had scavenged for years, and from which I had never returned empty-handed. My deeply tanned olive skin spoke of the years I’d spent on and under the water, searching for scraps.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eToday would be my last dive here. Elysea had found this site when I was twelve years old, and after five years, I knew every twist and turn of the labyrinth of steel, glass and stone. There was only one room left untouched. And I wasn’t leaving until I explored it. After that, I would need to find a new dive site and hope it hadn’t already been ravaged like so many sunken cities in this section of the sea.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI tightened the straps of my flippers, made from blunted blades of Old World knives. The rusty, thin metal sheets shrieked as I flexed my foot to test the movement.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Oh, shut up,” I said. The flippers were my mother’s, and I couldn’t afford new ones. I wouldn’t waste Notes on anything other than reviving my sister, or topping off my breather.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eOne last dive,\u003c\/i\u003e I thought as I put the breathing tube in my mouth and pulled the pliable transparent dome over my head. As I clipped it onto the neck of my diving skin, the dome inflated.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eOne final goodbye.\u003c\/i\u003e Another memory to shelve, another link to Elysea forever severed. The thought should’ve brought a wave of sadness, but I felt only cold, steely determination. Soon I, too, could forget Elysea’s name.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI took a shallow breath to check the gas levels of the small cylinder attached to my belt.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy breather beeped twice.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eOxygen low.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI yanked the dome off and spat out my breather. Aside from food, diving gas was the most expensive commodity. It allowed us to search for relics from the Old World—for anything useful in the new one. My dive finds barely covered the costs of living on the Equinox Reef and what was left went toward my sister’s resurrection. I was hoping I could unearth something from the remaining room to fund topping off my breather and allow me time to locate a new ruin, without having to dip into my savings.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI placed the breather back in my mouth and pulled the dome over my face. The levels would have to be enough.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI rattled some black stones with iridescent blue spirals in my palm, like miniature swirling galaxies. I dropped one into the ocean, saying a prayer to the Gods below, to allow me to enter their world, their sacred sanctuary—and survive it. It was a childish habit. When Elysea and I were young, we’d thought it was the will of the Gods below who took souls from boats in a storm and the air from the lungs of divers. We didn’t realize it was simply chance, bad luck or unskilled diving. The perils of our world.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTogether, we’d learned to conquer the ocean. Or so I’d thought. Until Elysea had drowned, almost exactly two years ago.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBefore I allowed any further doubt to muddy my mind, I grabbed my oilskin bag, clipped it to my diving belt and tilted backward off the boat.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe water was cold, but only my fingertips were cool, the rest of my body protected by my diving skin—a material made of thin, rubbery blue plates stitched together like fish scales, which I always wore under my clothes. I kicked my weighted metal flippers, which coaxed me downward.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eTake shallow, steady breaths.\u003c\/i\u003e I couldn’t help but hear my sister’s voice in my head. She’d taught me how to dive, after all.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“The free fall is easy,” she would say. “Save your air for the return trip. When you’ll need it. Just follow me into the dark, Tempe.” She never called me by my full name—Tempest—saying it was too harsh for her little sister. “Temp\u003ci\u003eee\u003c\/i\u003e sounds sweeter,” she’d said.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI could barely remember the little girl I’d once been.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA plume of bright light shone from the corner of my eye—my map to the world below. I kicked toward it as I fell. Before long, my vision was illuminated by shades of blue, purple and pink, dotted along shafts of rusted metal. Since the Great Waves around five hundred years ago, bioluminescent coral had grown along the city ruins, lighting the way toward the ocean floor, like Old World lights on cobbled streets, or the stars in the night sky. A sunken constellation.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe sight never failed to take my breath away. And even though the building was long dead, it glowed with life. It was beautiful.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI followed the path downward.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen I passed a red-brown metal turret, I took a slight turn to the left. Rusticles, like fossilized seaweed, dripped from every edge. The holes that were once doorways and windows into a lively world were now the soulless eyes of a watchful, watery tomb.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA lost city. A drowned society. The perfect harvest.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy breather beeped again. I took shallower breaths, hoping the Gods were in favor of my presence. Many divers had searched for the Gods below. A temple, a shrine, a palace. \u003ci\u003eAnything.\u003c\/i\u003e But they’d remained undiscovered. It gave naysayers ammunition to doubt the deities’ existence.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut in a world made almost entirely of water, we needed our guides. The Old World believed in the Gods above and followed the stars to journey across the land. But with hardly any land remaining, it was pointless to look to the sky. The water was our master.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI wished we’d begun with the lower levels of the building when we’d initially discovered this site. But it had been my first dive. Elysea had wanted to start closer to the surface, even though I’d argued that I was ready. She’d only been two years older than me, but after our parents’ deaths, she’d acted more like my guardian than my sister. Back then, I’d barely fit into my mom’s abandoned flippers.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You’ll grow into them,” Elysea had said, fastening them as tight as she could around my then-small feet. “It’s better that they’re big so you can use them for longer.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI hadn’t argued, excited to be included on the dive.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAfter five years, I was now one of the best divers on our home of the Equinox. While other kids went to school, sailed with their parents, swam with their friends, danced with their siblings, I dove. And dove and dove.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThere was nothing on the surface for me now.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI dove deeper, keeping my breaths shallow to save gas.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs much as I missed diving with Elysea, I liked being by myself. With nothing but the waters to guide me, the Gods below protecting me, and the quiet to soothe my restless mind. My anger.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eElysea had been lucky to find this ruin. It must’ve broken free from a larger cluster of buildings during the Great Waves. Most sunken cities were overcrowded with divers, and few relics were left to be found. Not this building. This ruin was all mine.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe dive site was located close to the isle of Palindromena, and most divers steered clear of the brutal waves that crashed against the jagged coast. Too many people drowned there. Plus, those who lived on the Equinox were superstitious. The island was cloaked in mystery and tainted by death.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut I wasn’t afraid of Palindromena. The facility had always been a specter in my life, but never touched me directly, like a looming shadow.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen I reached the ocean floor, I darted through a knocked-out window. Coral had grown around the frame, lighting the entrance. Many people believed the Gods below were to thank for the coral that had appeared in the years since the Great Waves, showing the way to sunken treasures. Without the Gods, and their coral, the Old World would’ve been lost to the ocean.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy breather let out another warning beep. I had to be quick.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe building’s ground floor had been a row of tiny shops, all interconnected. More coral bloomed inside, illuminating the rooms. The first shop was some kind of eatery. Tables tipped upside down, slivers of ceramic plates and glass cups were now debris in the water.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI rushed through the room, keeping my eye out for anything I might’ve missed. Anything \u003ci\u003evaluable\u003c\/i\u003e. Old cups were interesting, but not worth many Notes. I needed something useful for more diving gas and to fund Elysea’s resurrection.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDown here, skeletons were as common as the yellow familfish that traveled in schools of hundreds up near the Equinox. Coral had grown in the gaps of disintegrated bone, piecing together the skeletons and fortifying them from further decomposition. They floated through doorways and rooms as though they continued to live and breathe, while their flesh and muscle had long peeled away.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI was twelve when I first saw a glowing patchwork skeleton, providing fuel for a week’s worth of nightmares. Now they were friends. I’d given them names, backgrounds, personalities. It made it less creepy.\u003ci\u003eSlightly.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI’d never made friends easily, but down here, the skeletons didn’t have a choice.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI nodded to Adrei. His red-and-pink calcified skull rested on the café counter, his bony hand beside his face as though I’d caught him deep in thought. On the ocean floor, there was little movement, no currents or fish to disturb him. As I swam by, my flippers rippled through the water and his luminous fingers rattled, as if to say hello.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eI continued on to the next room.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Hey, Celci,” I said to a skeleton stuck floating between two corridors. I’d named her after my old aunt, who’d passed away from crystal lung when I was a child. I still remembered her teeth too large for her face, like this skeleton. I gently nudged Celci as I passed, moving her into the next room to be with Adrei. Even the dead shouldn’t be alone.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe shop next door had been a bookstore; I passed without a second look. The room had been sealed before I’d forced open the door. While I’d managed to salvage some books, the rest had quickly broken down and clouded the room. The books I’d already retrieved weren’t worth much; as soon as they were brought to the surface, the pages began to decompose in the humid salty air. Perhaps it would’ve been better to leave them down here, their words trapped within the pages, their untold stories safe.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSo much of our history had disappeared. Most of the tales of the Old Gods had been forgotten, giving rise to the New Gods. People believed the Old Gods had turned away from us and our selfishness and didn’t warn us of the impending waves.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWhen the Great Waves hit, people struggled to hold on to their faith.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt wasn’t until the coral began blooming that people believed we weren’t alone. We hadn’t been abandoned by the Gods after all. Like the stars in the sky, the coral would guide us to supplies submerged below.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eWe could survive this new world with the remnants of the past.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy mom had believed in the Gods below, but my father hadn’t. Did Dad’s lack of faith cause their deaths? Did he misread the churning waters and darkening skies that became the vicious storm that destroyed their boat? But then, Elysea—\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMy breather let off a few frantic shrieks. \u003ci\u003eI hear you,\u003c\/i\u003e I thought. \u003ci\u003eBut I’m not done yet.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"G.P. Putnam's Sons Books for Young Readers","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46303837520101,"sku":"NP9780525513971","price":11.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780525513971.jpg?v=1767742042","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/the-vanishing-deep-isbn-9780525513971","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}