{"product_id":"into-the-midnight-wood-isbn-9798217045587","title":"Into the Midnight Wood","description":"\u003cb\u003eA whimsical queer romance about two mismatched roommates whose fragile—and definitely not romantic \u003ci\u003eat all\u003c\/i\u003e—balance is upended by an impending family wedding and an otherworldly danger in the nearby enchanted wood.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eThere are \u003ci\u003eat least \u003c\/i\u003e100 things wrong with Meredith Schwarzwelder. In fact, keeping track of these things is the only way David Carew has managed to remain living with him for as long as he has. Meredith is an irredeemable eccentric who flirts with everyone in his path (#3 on the list), cries at anything (#35), makes the worst coffee in the world (#70), and talks to mice, or imagines he does (#50).\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt’s bad enough living with such a person on the edge of the Midnight Wood, but when magic starts to seep from the wood and a dark being emerges with a sinister plan involving Meredith, David decides that it’s time to leave the cottage, and his roommate, behind. Then Meredith’s brother gets engaged to the daughter of David’s boss, and David sees an opportunity: If he can insert himself into the festivities, maybe he can advance his career and get himself out of a personal rut.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith wedding bells sounding and the dangers of the Midnight Wood encroaching, David realizes there’s much more hiding beneath the surface of his roommate’s seemingly carefree charm, and that perhaps his own exasperation carries more fondness than he’d like to admit.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eCozy, sharp, steamy, and poignant, \u003ci\u003eInto the Midnight Wood \u003c\/i\u003eis a contemporary queer fairy tale about the masks we wear, the stories we tell, and the powerful need for true, honest connection to heal old wounds and new.\"Absolutely irresistibly charming, with an achingly beautiful heart beneath all the charm! A gorgeous love story!\" \u003cb\u003e—Sarah Beth Durst, \u003ci\u003eNew York Times \u003c\/i\u003ebestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Spellshop\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e \"This is the funniest book I've read all year! I would take an arrow for David and Meredith. In between swooning over their sharp-witted and steamy romance, I was absolutely cackling at their banter. \u003ci\u003eInto the Midnight Wood\u003c\/i\u003e is the romantic, mist-cloaked fairytale of my dreams.\" \u003cb\u003e—Sydney J. Shields, #1 international and \u003ci\u003eUSA Today\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author of \u003ci\u003eThe Honey Witch\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\"Alexandra McCollum takes readers Into the Midnight Wood and treats them to a spooky and sizzling romance.\" \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e—Bookpage\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"This quirky, magical, opposites-attract queer romance is given depth as it... portrays closed-off hearts, misunderstandings, and intense emotions in an utterly charming, steamy, and heartfelt story.\" \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003e —Library Journal \u003c\/i\u003e(STARRED REVIEW)\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"McCollum has conjured some incredibly endearing characters in \u003ci\u003eInto the Midnight Wood.\u003c\/i\u003e.. This book is laugh-out-loud funny... Well worth the journey if you’re looking for something enchantingly eccentric.\" \u003cb\u003e—Hippo Press\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"This is a story about love as both wound and remedy, about shattering the categories that make us legible but small. In slow-burning recognition, we find something radical: two queer people learning the real magic is in the terrifying act of being fully seen.\" \u003cb\u003e—Scene Mag\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003ci\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Into the Midnight Wood \u003c\/i\u003ehas a little bit of something for everyone: dark magic a foot, an opposites-attract spicy queer romance, and witty banter aplenty.\" \u003cb\u003e—Rachel Gilman, Now What\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A queer romantasy that enticingly blends the magical with the mundane....[with] a thoroughly satisfying resolution.\" \u003cb\u003e—\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\"A queer cozy romantasy about a prickly accountant and his eccentric roommate living at the edge of an enchanted wood.\" \u003cb\u003e—My Geekology\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cb\u003eAlexandra McCollum\u003c\/b\u003e grew up in rural northeast Ohio and now lives in Nevada with their husband and dog. Among other jobs, they’ve worked in a bakery in Austria, managed a coffee shop in Ohio, and taught high school in Las Vegas. When not writing, they can be found studying languages and exploring local coffeehouses in search of the perfect Americano.Chapter One\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMeredith Schwarzwelder might have been a nightmare to live with, but at least he paid his share of the rent on time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt had become something of a coping mechanism for David Carew to remind himself of this fact several times per day. It was what he reminded himself now as he attempted to decipher the smudged ink of the hastily scrawled note on the kitchen table. In fact, if David were to draw up a list of points for and against his housemate, the For column would have a single point in his favor:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e#1: He pays the rent on time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe Against column-against what, precisely, David wasn't sure; just against him generally-would have taken a lifetime to write out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e#1: He has an absurd name.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMeredith was a good, fine Welsh name, of course, if a bit out of style as a man's name these days. David had nothing against that. Schwarzwelder, too, was a perfectly acceptable surname, even if some clerical meddling of the distant past had led to the nonstandard phonetic spelling. But to combine the two-that was pure absurdity. One simply couldn't go around mixing languages and nationalities in such haphazard fashion. It was a frivolous name, befitting a frivolous person.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e#2: He is a frivolous person, an irredeemable eccentric.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEvery quirk of speech and manner that David had taken for affectation upon their first meeting five years ago, he now knew to be authentic. The simple truth was that Meredith was genuinely, incurably strange.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eExhibit A: The note.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRan down to the shops. Bednarek stopped by early, and he says, can you clean up the garden because there's people coming later. Also, don't worry about the hallway ceiling. Says me, not Bednarek. Back soon.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLove, Meri\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe i was dotted with a heart. A heart. A grown man, a sensible man, did not sign his name in such a fashion. And yet-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe note continued with the addendum:\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eP.S. Don't worry about the linen cupboard either.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eP.P.S. The bread is out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDavid closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and ran a hand through his wavy dark hair. He ought to go and investigate what, precisely, had happened to both the hallway ceiling and the linen cupboard, but he wouldn't. Not yet. He would deal with that and the garden and Mr. Bednarek, the landlord, after he finished his breakfast. He needed a moment to drink his tea and read the morning paper and go through the daily process of reconciling himself to the reality of living with the singularly most bizarre person he had ever met.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I think Schwarzy's having it off with Mrs. Jupiter,\" said Brian.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDavid's eyelid twitched. He made a noncommittal sound without glancing up from the finance pages.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Schwarzy! And Mrs. Jupiter!\" persisted Brian.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBrian was the third occupant of Midnight Cottage, so named for its location at the edge of the Midnight Wood.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMrs. Jupiter was the witch who lived down the lane.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I heard you the first time.\" David wasn't surprised. He'd seen the way Meredith spoke to her, leaning over the garden gate and winking and saying things like Nice weather, isn't it, Mrs. J? and How's the chickens, Mrs. J? and Want me to show you the spot where the sweet woodruff grows down by the sycamores, Mrs. J? Sooner or later, she'd been bound to take him up on it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSooner or later, most people did.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e#3: He flirts with everyone in his path, whether man, woman, or other.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It's hardly decent,\" said Brian.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePrivately, David agreed, but he merely sighed and folded his newspaper. \"Mrs. Jupiter is a widow, Brian. She's allowed to have it off with whomever she likes.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTrue or not, it was hardly the scandalous news his housemate seemed to take it for. David bit into his English muffin (the last from the half-forgotten package in the cupboard, its staleness not disguised by a thick layer of marmalade), took a sip of tea, dabbed at his moustache with a paper napkin, and was just turning his attention back to the newspaper when Brian spoke again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yes, but he isn't, is he?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What, widowed? Or allowed to have it off with-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Stop saying that,\" demanded Brian. \"It's vulgar. But yes. The latter.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDavid didn't bother pointing out that Brian was the one who'd introduced the phrase to begin with, and once again took up the newspaper without comment.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e#4: He is, apparently, having it off with Mrs. Jupiter.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I saw them, you know,\" Brian went on. \"Yesterday. In the Midnight Wood.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith a huff, David dropped the paper back to the table. \"Yes, and?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBrian scowled and picked up his plate, set it back down, and began to pick at his undercooked freezer waffle. \"He was clinging to her.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUnmoved, David took another drink of tea. \"He clings to everybody. He clings to me if I let him. I wouldn't worry.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e#5: He clings.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e#6: And he stares.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAt David, at his own reflection, at the sky, in the direction of anything with the slightest hint of sparkle, and, at times, at nothing at all.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOn the verge of taking another sip of tea, David paused with his cup in midair. The gears in his mind had begun to turn; suspicion crept in. \"Why are you worried?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBrian didn't reply. David's suspicion grew stronger.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You've been here, what, three weeks now?\" David asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThat question elicited a tight-lipped nod of affirmation.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDavid Carew did not consider himself a cruel man, but it was better for all concerned, he told himself, to confirm what he suspected, to rip the Band-Aid off and get it over with.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"All right,\" he said. \"Suppose they are.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePerhaps he was being cruel, but he pressed on anyway. \"Suppose they are,\" he repeated. \"Schwarzy and Mrs. Jupiter, screwing each other senseless in the back garden right this minute.\" (He could have said making love, he reflected, but that implied a certain delicacy of feeling, and in any case, Brian needed a reality check. Judging by the way he flinched at the phrase, he needed it badly.) \"What difference does it make to you?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBrian's cheeks had gone pink, and his nervous fingers had made considerable headway in the task of shredding his waffle into a heap of crumbs on his plate.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo that was it, then. David should have known from the outset. \"You slept with him, didn't you?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBrian opened his mouth in what was probably meant to be righteous indignation and closed it again. He raised an index finger, frowned, and subsequently lowered it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e#7: He slept with Brian.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I told you not to,\" said David severely. \"I did tell you, the first day you moved in.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I didn't mean to!\" said Brian in despair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDavid raised his eyebrows and set down his cup. Very seriously, he asked, \"Do you mean to say it wasn't consensual?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"N-no, it was.\" Brian took on a dreamy, faraway look. \"It was very consensual.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDavid forestalled any further reminiscences with a raised hand. \"That's quite more than I need to know.\" Something else occurred to him. \"I thought you were straight.\" He'd thought-hoped-that fact would prevent any complications of this nature, but he was neither naive nor ignorant of Meredith's effect on people.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"So did I! I mean, I am!\" insisted Brian. \"I was. Oh, I don't know!\" He threw down the last bit of waffle and lowered his face to his hands, from behind which he said indistinctly, \"Schwarzy's got me all confused.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yes,\" said David, \"I can see he has.\" If his tone was rather dry, Brian was too distraught to pick up on it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It isn't my fault,\" said Brian. \"He gave me the eye. He does that, you know. To everybody.\" He raised his face and repeated, in an accusatory tone, \"You know.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I don't know,\" said David flatly. \"He's never given me, as you call it, the eye. Not so that I've noticed.\" Or perhaps David was immune to Meredith's supposed charm. In any case, he was the only person in the shared rental house who'd ever lasted more than three months.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e#8: He's driven away every other occupant of Midnight Cottage without exception.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith a few, it had been this exact scenario. With others, it had been the inability to withstand the psychic distress of living with a person who was chaos distilled-of the distinct possibility of coming home at any given time to find the drawer pulls off the kitchen cabinets or the wineglasses stacked precariously in the bay window or a trail of Chihuahua-sized pawprints in India ink leading down the back hallway.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTrue, the proximity of the reality-distorting Midnight Wood might have played no small part. The interior of the forest disregarded the laws of time and space, and was home to innumerable strange plants and dangerous creatures. At times, faint strains of music seemed to drift out on the wind at night but vanished the moment one tried to listen more closely. Paths appeared to shift the moment one turned one's back, trees and hills and valleys never quite staying in the same spot one had last left them. It was a most unsettling place, and David never set foot inside the Wood if he could help it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMeredith regularly went for nighttime walks there.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was said that prolonged exposure to the Midnight Wood, even at a distance, could drive one mad. That, David knew, was nonsense. He himself had lived there for five years and was perfectly sane. So was Mrs. Jupiter, and she had lived there longer still. For that matter, so had Meredith, and while sane was perhaps not the first word that came to mind to describe him, certainly he was no more mad than he had been upon their first meeting.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBrian was speaking, David realized, and had been for some time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"-and I won't take that lying down, I can tell you.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Sorry?\" said David. \"Won't take what lying down?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBrian slammed his teacup down onto the table. \"There you go again,\" he hissed, \"making everything vulgar.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yes, all right, my apologies,\" said David in the most placating tone he could muster. He had witnessed enough impending departures to recognize the signs, and this time he aimed to prevent it, if possible. Brian was a tolerable housemate: he was quiet in his comings and goings, adhered to an adequate standard of cleanliness, and for the most part kept to himself (although, as it turned out, to a lesser extent than ideal). David would much prefer convincing him to stay over taking a gamble on a new, unknown housemate.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Have you spoken with him?\" he asked.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What good will that do?\" Brian scooped up a handful of waffle bits, rose from his chair, and pitched them into the trash can. \"He has betrayed me, David.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDavid turned over the newspaper, which he'd long since abandoned any hope of reading. \"Does he know that? I mean, he's . . .\" He made an inarticulate gesture that encompassed the utter futility of attempting to explain Meredith to the uninitiated. \"I expect he did give you his speech? No plans to fall in love, et cetera?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe color drained from Brian's face. \"How do you,\" he said through gritted teeth, \"know about the speech? Don't tell me you-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What?\" David stared across the table in disbelief at the very suggestion. \"Good God, no.\" He'd had to overhear Meredith's little recitation in bars and in clubs and, on occasion, in the living room of Midnight Cottage so many times he knew it verbatim. It was what Meredith told everybody who succumbed to his charms, earnestly explaining the parameters of a potential encounter to the interested party or parties. \"I know it because we've lived together so long, nothing more.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBrian planted both hands on the table and leaned forward, attempting to loom over David. \"Do you really expect me to believe that?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen again, David decided, all things must come to an end. Perhaps Brian's tenure at Midnight Cottage had, regrettably, run its course.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDavid pushed back his chair and rose to his full height. He stood six foot three with the muscle to back it up (even if he had put on a few extra pounds after the past few years at a desk job) and could out-loom Brian-and most people, in fact-by sheer natural aptitude.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yes,\" he said. \"I do.\" In fact, he was far less offended by the accusation of lying than he was by the very idea that he would ever so much as consider going to bed with Meredith.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor a long moment, the two of them glared at each other over the breakfast table.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was Brian who looked away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Fine,\" he snapped. \"You know what? I don't care. You can have him.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I don't want him,\" protested David, but Brian had already stormed out of the kitchen. David made a half-hearted effort to follow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBy the time he rounded the corner into the living room, Brian had already ascended the stairs, and stopped at the top to call down, \"I won't be sticking around here any longer, I can tell you that much. And!\" he added with indignation. \"We're out of bread.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe turned his back and vanished from the landing; a moment later, an upstairs door slammed.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Right,\" said David to the empty room.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eUnder ordinary circumstances, the interior of Midnight Cottage was a pleasant, cozy space. Its hardwood surfaces had become polished with age and acquired a warm, honeyed patina, and the wide bay window let in both sunlight and the ever-present view of the adjacent forest. In combination, it gave the effect of bathing the living room in a faintly yellow-greenish light, a comforting hue that put David in mind of green glass bottles and the pages of old books and sunlight filtering through foliage on a summer's day. A large potted fern hung from the rafters of the sloping ceiling, overfilled bookcases flanked the window seat on either side, and the sofa's slipcover bore a sensible yet subtle herringbone pattern of David's choosing, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the atrocious color-wheel throw pillows Meredith had brought home one day, insisting they were vintage.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRight now, however, the palpable resentment radiating from behind Brian's closed door seemed to permeate the entire cottage. David retreated to the back deck, closed the door behind him, and lowered himself into a weathered Adirondack chair that creaked in distress at the addition of his weight. That was an improvement-nothing to disturb him out here, no sound apart from the distant twitter of birds in the early-spring chill. At last he could enjoy the remainder of his tea in peace.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe took a drink and found it had gone quite cold.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDavid set his half-full teacup on the deck rail, leaned back in his chair, and pressed his hands over his eyes. All he wanted, really, was to wake up in a house-in a world-blissfully devoid of Meredith Schwarzwelder and the chaos he left in his wake.","brand":"Dutton","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233272410341,"sku":"NP9798217045587","price":19.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9798217045587.jpg?v=1767730140","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/into-the-midnight-wood-isbn-9798217045587","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}