{"product_id":"the-vanishing-place-isbn-9798217188093","title":"The Vanishing Place","description":"\u003cb\u003eInstant #1 International Bestseller • A \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e and \u003ci\u003eWashington Post\u003c\/i\u003e's Best Thriller of 2025\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA shocking murder in the New Zealand bush—and the witness who looks all too familiar—draws a woman back to the very place she swore she’d never return to in this breakneck debut thriller. \u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA child who ran from the forest. \u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eA woman who must return to it\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eGrowing up with her younger siblings in the unforgiving New Zealand bush, Effie believed their parents had cut them off from civilization because they loved Nature. She never suspected that their reasons might be more menacing. After witnessing a terrifying episode of violence, she escaped the wilderness to forge a life for herself halfway across the globe.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNow, when she learns the only witness to a murder is a little girl who looks just like her, Effie is compelled to return to the scene of her troubled childhood, where the secrets of her upbringing and the terrors of her past come rushing back to the surface. In order to find out once and for all what became of her family—and possibly help this mysterious girl who could be her younger self—Effie must face her greatest fears once more.\u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eNamed ONE OF 2025’s BEST THRILLERS by The New York Times and The Washington Post\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003cb\u003eSizzling\u003c\/b\u003e. . . a reminder that memory is slippery, that people arecapable of both unspeakable cruelty and unbelievable heroism and that the readers shouldn’t jump to conclusions about the characters too soon. \" -- \u003ci\u003e\u003cb\u003eNew York Times Book Review\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"From the deep dark wilds of the New Zealand bush to searing memories of sins past, \u003ci\u003eThe Vanishing Place\u003c\/i\u003e \u003cb\u003ebreaks new ground in a genuinely thrilling ride\u003c\/b\u003e.\"—\u003cb\u003eLisa Gardner\u003c\/b\u003e, #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003cb\u003e[A] knockout debut\" -- \u003ci\u003eWashington Post\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"A \u003cb\u003etriumphant \u003c\/b\u003ethriller. . .Rankin expertly manages the parallel timelines, drawing out key questions about Effie’s past as the narrative toggles back and forth, and her prose is often ruggedly beautiful (“The barbed silence moved through her, as if the blades of silver fern traced her skin”). This is \u003cb\u003ea must-read \u003c\/b\u003efor fans of Jane Harper.\" -\u003cb\u003e-\u003ci\u003ePublishers Weekly\u003c\/i\u003e (starred review)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003c\/b\u003eVividly set in the unforgiving bush country, \u003cb\u003eRankin’s debut thriller cleverly builds on the long-held secrets of the past and the present to reveal a jaw-dropping finale \u003c\/b\u003ereminiscent of Jane Harper’s \u003ci\u003eThe Dry\u003c\/i\u003e or Michael Bennett’s\u003ci\u003e Better the Blood.\" \u003cb\u003e--Library Journal (starred review).\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e\"Mesmerizing. . .an addictive, atmospheric read that refuses to play it safe. \u003c\/b\u003eZoë Rankin delivers a \u003cb\u003egripping and unflinching \u003c\/b\u003eexploration of faith, isolation, and the slow crumbling of the human psyche when trapped in darkness.\u003cb\u003e\" -- \u003ci\u003eIrish Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"The New Zealand bush is the backdrop in this tale of survival and family secrets. Half-starved and covered with blood, a young girl stumbles into a grocery store in a remote village on the outskirts of the unforgiving, heavily forested bush. She can’t speak, but she looks just like a girl who went missing in the bush 20 years before. This explosive opener is just the first of many shocking scenes in a nature-centric, \u003cb\u003ehighly satisfying \u003c\/b\u003ecrime drama that is perfect for fans of Emma Donoghue’s \u003ci\u003eRoom \u003c\/i\u003eand other tales of survival. \u003cb\u003eAs rich as Rankin’s entrancing and skillfully developed plot are her immersive descriptions of the bush country. . .You’ll get lost in the wilds with this gripping debut\u003c\/b\u003e.\" -- \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eKirkus Reviews\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"\u003cb\u003eImpressively original, deftly crafted, as well as a fascinating and fun read from cover to cover\u003c\/b\u003e. . .All the more impressive when considering that \u003ci\u003eThe Vanishing Place\u003c\/i\u003e is Rankin's debut as a novelist.\" -- \u003cb\u003e\u003ci\u003eMidwest Book Review\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cb\u003e“Richly evocative and simmering with tension\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003ci\u003eThe Vanishing Place\u003c\/i\u003e is a white-knuckle tale of evil and love.”—\u003cb\u003eCharity Norman\u003c\/b\u003e, \u003cb\u003eNgaio Marsh-winning author of \u003ci\u003eRemember Me\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e‘\u003cb\u003eA hauntingly atmospheric tale of family secrets, obsession, and twisted love\u003c\/b\u003e, Zoë Rankin’s debut skilfully evokes the terror of isolation and the chilling legacy of childhood trauma. \u003ci\u003eThe Vanishing Place \u003c\/i\u003ewill keep you up late.”—\u003cb\u003eInternational #1 bestselling author Rose Carlyle\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Deep in New Zealand’s bush is 'The Vanishing Place,' a place so hidden that few people can escape from it and practically no one can find it, as Zoë Rankin so evocatively describes in her \u003cb\u003efascinating debut. \u003c\/b\u003eThe rich scenery of New Zealand and Scotland become facets in themselves while informing the gripping plot and shaping the believable characters who inhabit these lands. . .\u003cb\u003eRankin skillfully alternates her story from Effie’s childhood to now, allowing the plot to unravel at the perfect pace\u003c\/b\u003e.\" --\u003ci\u003eFlorida Sun-Sentinel\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“\u003cb\u003eOne to remember, \u003c\/b\u003eand a must for fans of Barbara Kingsolver’s \u003ci\u003ePoisonwood Bible\u003c\/i\u003e and Alisa Alering’s \u003ci\u003eSmothermoss\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cb\u003e.” --\u003ci\u003eFirst Clue \u003c\/i\u003e(Book of the Week)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\"An incredible story of surviving dysfunctional families and the \u003cb\u003eN\u003c\/b\u003eew Zealand bush. \u003cb\u003eAbsolutely gripping, genuinely terrifying and yet profoundly humane. I loved it\u003c\/b\u003e! ' -- internationally bestselling author Liz Nugent\u003cb\u003eZoë Rankin\u003c\/b\u003e grew up in a tiny village in Scotland. She spent many years traveling in Europe, Asia, the Middle East, and Africa, and eventually settled in New Zealand. She has always been as passionate about writing as she is about exploring the outdoors, which she often does with her equally adventurous husband and two- and four-year-old daughters.November 2001\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe West Coast Bush, New Zealand\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe fourth of them burst into the world like a storm. Loud and messy and out of the blue.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMum's newest bush child.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe slipped into the small hut screaming. Into their middle-of-nowhere home. Just trees and ferns and his big voice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe baby was impossibly tiny, all smooshed and scrunched up, and his skin was pale purple. It was impossible that he was even there-his miniature body wrapped up in Effie's wool jumper-because Mum hadn't been pregnant. There had been no bulge under her T-shirt. No swelling in her bra. With Aiden, Mum's belly had swollen and grown white lines, but this time, her stomach had stayed its normal shape.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEffie held her new brother in her arms and tried to push the tip of her finger into his tiny mouth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Shh, baby.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWhen Aiden was tiny, Mum had spilled over with milk. Sometimes it had dripped through her shirt and Effie had looked away, embarrassed, the damp circles reminding her of a leaking cow.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Sorry, little boy. I don't have anything for you.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe baby opened and closed his wrinkly purple fists and tried to push his face into Effie's jumper. At almost nine, her chest was still flat, but the baby didn't seem to notice.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Stop it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe boy's searching lips creeped her out, and Effie wanted Mum to take him away. Mum needed to feed him and bathe him like she did with Aiden. Babies needed to be fed all the time, but Mum hadn't moved since the baby had slipped from between her legs an hour ago. Dad had thrust him at Effie, his newborn body sticky with white slime, and slammed their bedroom door in her face. Dad's face had been strange, his familiar eyes dark in a way that Effie didn't recognize.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe stared at the closed door. Other than the main living area, where they cooked and slept and did schoolwork, it was the only room in their back-of-beyond hut. Effie adjusted her position on the sofa, careful to hold the boy's head. The younger kids had been sent outside to pick mouku and pikopiko to steam for dinner. There was no noise apart from the baby's cries and the tōtara trees knocking on the corrugated metal walls. Mum's screams had stopped ages ago, when the little hand on the clock was pointed at three. Effie held the boy tight, afraid she might drop him. She'd seen Mum hold Aiden a thousand times, but the baby was so floppy and fragile, and he didn't seem to do anything but cry.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It's okay, little boy. Mum will be out soon.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEffie tried not to look at the bedroom door, or to imagine what was happening on the other side of it. Feeling bad things made them real, that was how the game worked-Mum's inside-out feelings game. Sometimes in the winter, the hut got so cold that Effie's toes went blue. Then Mum would knit them all bright-colored hut socks and odd-shaped quilts. But Effie hated the hut on those freezing days. It was too cold. Too small. Too ugly. It wasn't like the proper houses she saw in town. But Mum said it was. Mum \u003cbr\u003esaid that it was a proper home. She decorated their hut with pots of ferns and hung homemade art from the walls. Mum said that home was a feeling, a warm yellow tingle. So, they'd practice. They'd picture lots of yellow things. The sun. Kōwhai trees. Bumblebees. Hurukōwhai. Buttercups. Until the warm outside feeling became real and her toes didn't feel so blue.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut it wasn't working now. Effie needed Mum to make the game work. She needed Mum to come out of her bedroom and make everything normal again.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Shh. Please.\" Effie shook the baby gently. \"I don't know what to do.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBefore Aiden came out, Mum had walked the six hours through the bush to the Roaring Billy Falls. Then she'd taken the tinnie across the river and hitched to Koraha to find a midwife. Mum had lined up small bottles by the sink-important baby vitamins-and she'd stopped hunting with Dad. But Mum hadn't done any of those things with number four. He'd just arrived, screaming like thunder.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEffie reached across the sofa for one of Aiden's old wooden toys. She shook the homemade rattle above the baby's head, but it was no use.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Please, please stop crying.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThen, over the noise of his wails, she heard a crash from the bedroom-something breaking-and a pained angry yell. Effie wanted to run at the bedroom door, to batter at it with all her might. But Dad had been clear. No kids.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eShe held the baby tight, as if squeezing him might spare his tiny ears the sounds of anger. Then she closed her eyes. After the second crash, Effie slumped to the floor and pulled her knees in, supporting the baby. She needed to run, to get help. But there was nowhere to go. Just trees. No one to help them.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEffie rocked the baby and whispered words she'd only read in books, about a man in the sky who could save them. She was still rocking and muttering when the bedroom door creaked open and Dad appeared.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHe was crying. Full, ugly tears. Effie froze, not wanting to be noticed. He would be embarrassed; Dad hated the weak bits in people. She'd never seen him cry, not even when the skinny hunting dog died. But now his face was a blotchy angry mess and his shirt was stained dark red.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Get up,\" he muttered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut she couldn't. He didn't look like Dad.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Dad?\" she whimpered.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut he didn't hug her. He stepped past them and yanked his jacket from the hook. Then, without looking at her or the baby, he stormed out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe boy stirred in Effie's arms and she crawled forward, the wooden floor bashing against her knees. It was too quiet, too still-the hut limp like a gutted pig. Like there was no heart in it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Mum?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEffie peered into the wrecked room. Mum's chair was broken in two, and her mirror lay in splinters across her favorite braided rug. The sheets and the floor were damp, stained with blood and another clear liquid. Effie stumbled to her feet, fighting pins and needles, then inched toward the bed. Toward Mum.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Mum?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEffie shook her arm.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Mum!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut Mum was already gone.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e2025\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIsle of Skye, Scotland\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"This is beyond humiliating,\" Effie shouted as she struggled to stand in the gale-force winds. She pulled at the hood of her jacket, trying to shield her face, but the rain stung her cheeks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No,\" Blair shouted back, their bodies huddled together. \"What would be humiliating would be dying on the side of this bloody mountain because you're too stubborn to ask for help.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"We can get down ourselves. You can lean on me.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No! We absolutely cannot.\" Blair dug her fingers into Effie's arm, clinging to her, as a gust of wind threatened to topple them. \"There's no way I'm walking out on this ankle. The rocks are like ice, and it's going to start getting bloody cold and dark.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I can get-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"We need to call mountain rescue.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I am mountain rescue,\" yelled Effie, her words diluted to a whisper by the elements.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Right now . . .\" Blair said as she lowered them to a crouched position on the wet ground, \"what you are is a stubborn idiot who's about to watch her best friend freeze to death with a sprained ankle. Or, quite possibly, get blown down the Dubh Slabs to end up as a puddle of flesh and bones at the bottom.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I would never let that-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Then phone them.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBlair gestured with her gloved hand, and the small plastic buckle caught the side of Effie's eye. The tender area of cold skin screamed on impact, but she blinked it away.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I can't.\" She glanced down as water dripped from her hair. \"I'd never live it down. Keith would rib me about it forever and-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"For Christ's sake, Effie. Listen to yourself.\" Blair rubbed furiously at her arms. \"We could die. This isn't some game. This is our fucking lives.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Greg will be on call,\" Effie murmured, without meeting her friend's eyes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"So?\" Blair's mascara had started to leak down her face. \"That's great.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"We broke up last night.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBlair shuffled across the wet rocky ground, guarding her left foot, until they were snuggled together. Then she put a drenched arm around Effie.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You need to phone them,\" she said again, but her voice was softer.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEffie looked out at where the Cuillin Ridge should have been. But there was nothing to see but gray and cloud and lashing rain. On a good day, she could have named every point from Loch Coruisk to the end of the curved mountain range-a route she'd completed a number of times. She'd once run the Black Cuillin stretch-all twenty-two summits and eleven Munros of it-in just four hours and three minutes, barely an hour off the world record.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I know,\" said Effie.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Oh, thank god.\" Blair exhaled. Then she buried her face into Effie's chest. \"Cos there's no way I'd have the energy to fight you on it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Well . . .\" Effie managed a smile. \"I'm fully intending to tell Keith that you did-that you resorted to blackmail and forced my hand.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Whatever gets me into a helicopter and off this fucking mountain with my fingers and toes still attached.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEffie sat for a moment, feeling the weight of her friend against her, then she pulled her phone from her pocket and cocooned it between her ear and hood.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It was just bad luck, you know.\" Blair reached out and took Effie's hand. \"Bad luck and shitty Scottish weather.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Thanks, Bee.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEffie closed her eyes and held 2 for the mountain rescue team, a team she'd been a part of for eight years. As it rang, she prayed it wouldn't be Greg who picked up. The last thing he'd said to her, as she'd stormed from his flat, was that she'd end up dying alone on the side of some mountain. And as she'd slammed the door, she hadn't hated the idea.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I know this shouldn't be in the least bit funny,\" said Blair, unable to keep the amusement from her quivering lips as Effie got off the phone with Keith. He'd promised to have a team deployed as soon as possible.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It's not.\" Effie groaned and reached into her rucksack. \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"But . . .\" Blair smiled. \"Come on, it's going to make for a great story.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It's not.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt would take a while for the helicopter to fly in, and the wait would be more pleasant without the elements trying to drown them. Effie pulled out the storm shelter, wrestling against the wind, then she and Blair stood nose to nose, chest to chest, torso to torso, under the fluorescent-orange sheet. The waterproof fabric came down to just below their bottoms, leaving their legs exposed to the downpour.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Right,\" said Effie, their faces just inches apart, \"on three, we sit.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Got it.\" Blair giggled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"And,\" Effie continued, \"remember to pull the seating panel underneath you so the water stays out.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Loud and clear.\" Blair suppressed a laugh as a gust of wind thrust her forward and their cheeks smooshed together.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"One . . .\" Effie started, ignoring Blair's snorts. \"Two. Three.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs they lowered to the ground, the material formed a protective tent around them, their world reduced to a billowing orange bubble.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"This isn't so bad,\" Blair shouted over the flapping fabric. \"Romantic, even.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEffie rolled her eyes. \"Christ.\" She rubbed a hand across her face. \"Seriously, even now?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Now what?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I don't know.\" Effie couldn't help but smile. \"I thought that maybe, just maybe, the threat of death might have dampened your . . . your . . .\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"My what?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Your infuriatingly persistent enthusiasm.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Aw, come on.\" Blair nudged Effie's leg with her foot. \"You love it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I tolerate it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"And I tolerate you nearly letting us die on our girls' day out.\" Blair smirked. \"So we're even.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEffie smiled back, and for the next few minutes, they sat in a comfortable silence as the orange nylon flapped around them and the rain pummeled the two circular windows.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe natural light had all but vanished from the evening sky, swallowed up by October's bleakness, and they were relying on two head-torches. One remained off, safe in Effie's pocket, while the other was around her hat. Half an hour later, when the phone buzzed twice in her pocket-two texts coming through at once-Effie knew something was wrong. Removing her gloves, she opened the messages. The first from Keith. Then Greg.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What is it?\" asked Blair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEffie looked at her phone, then back at her friend. \"The chopper from Stornoway had to turn around . . . because of the severe winds.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"So\"-Blair took a breath-\"no helicopter?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEffie shook her head.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No cozy airlift out?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I'm afraid not,\" said Effie.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"What happens now?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Keith said they've already prepped a team to head out on foot.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBlair's eyes widened. \"In this?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yeah.\" The muscles in Effie's stomach tightened. \"They know what they're doing, Bee.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Fuck.\" She glanced down at the flooded ground. \"So did we.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe shelter muted the outside storm, creating an eerie quiet. But after a minute's silence, Blair looked up. \"How long will it take them?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Five to six hours,\" said Effie. \"Maybe longer. The conditions are-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Less than ideal,\" finished Blair.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEffie actually laughed. \"Yes. They are definitely less than ideal.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"And this plastic bag of yours,\" said Blair, gesturing at the emergency shelter. \"It can hold its own?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You, my friend,\" said Effie, \"are sitting within 275 grams of mountaineering gold. I can personally guarantee you an almost warm, almost dry, mostly bearable night.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Excellent. It already sounds better than night shift at the hospital.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Fewer intoxicated patients. Less assistance with toileting.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"God, I hope so.\" Blair grimaced. \"Neither of us is peeing until I can urinate without fear of it blowing in my face.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I'm sorry,\" Effie muttered. \"Again. For getting us into this situation.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"We just got caught out, Effie. The weather turned and conditions changed.\" Blair sighed. \"Then I did my bloody ankle. Shit happens, and sometimes there's nothing we can do about it.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEffie squeezed Blair's hand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"So,\" said Blair, \"what happened with Greg?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I'm not sure this-\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"This is exactly the time.\" She grinned. \"It's not like I'm going anywhere. So spill. You owe me some gossip at least.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You're awful. You know that, right?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yes, I do.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"It was nothing. Nothing new, anyway.\" Effie fiddled with her zip. \"The same hashed-out argument.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"You being an irrational commitment-phobe?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Yeah.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Couldn't you just get a set of keys cut for the poor man? He's at your place half the time anyway. Then maybe, down the line, you might feel differently.\"","brand":"Berkley","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233761341669,"sku":"NP9798217188093","price":30.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9798217188093.jpg?v=1767742046","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-vanishing-place-isbn-9798217188093","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}