Sara Jane Rispoli is on the wrong side of the Russian mob, but closer to finding her family than ever. And she's willing to do whatever it takes to finally end this terrible journey even if the price is her own life. The very cold fury that has seen her through the worst of her troubles is now killing her; she knows the cure, but she can't sacrifice the deadly electricity until she's rescued her family. But when she finally does rescue them, it's not the happy reunion she pictured. And the torment doesn't stop there, not even when she finally discovers Ultimate Power. Only destroying the Outfit completely can end this terrible nightmare. Old enemies return to seek vengeance, double-crosses abound, and even more mysteries are uncovered as we rocket toward an end no one saw coming. Gr 9 Up—Chicago teen Sara Jane Rispoli is still searching for her parents while battling the mafialike Outfit. With only her wits and electricity-powered abilities to aid in her task, she finally succeeds in finding her family. However, her gift begins to make her sick, and the long-awaited reunion isn't the pleasant meeting for which she had hoped. Goeglein's fast-paced trilogy comes to a suspenseful and thrilling close. Praise for EMBERS & ASH:   “Goeglein keeps up his uncanny ability to channel a strong, smart, teen heroine; weave Chicago’s Capone era into the twenty-first century (one scene features the mummified remains from a speakeasy execution); and create a rich supporting cast.”— Booklist   “Readers will feel nothing but empathy for Sara Jane and her family . . .”— VOYA “Goeglein’s fast-paced trilogy comes to a suspenseful and thrilling close.”— School Library Journal    T.M. Goeglein (www.tmgoeglein.com) lives in Chicago, Illinois. 1 THE SKY ROARED AND FLASHED AS A VIOLENT thunderstorm clustered over Chicago. By late afternoon, dense clouds made it as dark as midnight. Rain fell like bullets as muddy ponds rose up, engulfing avenues, and electrical lines came down, blacking out neighborhoods. It had been an agonizing month to the day since someone disguised as one of Juan Kone’s ice cream creatures—those poor, addicted teens—disappeared into the void with my family. An ominous Saturday if ever there was one. I’d just finished presiding over a sit-down and was rushing to my hideout, the Bird Cage Club, when Doug Stuffins, my best friend, sent me an urgent text message: SJ—Get back here on the double! Major breakthrough in ToOI! He didn’t have to tell me to hurry. Those four little letters did the trick. They stood for Troika of Outfit Influence (I still didn’t know if it was an object or a location), beneath which ultimate power was buried. It, too, was a mystery; the notebook spoke of ultimate power and provided a key to its vault, but did not reveal what it was. I believed in it because there was nothing else to believe in. Ironically, a mortal enemy strengthened my faith in the existence of ultimate power and its ability to help save my family. Elzy, my former nanny and recent assailant who’d vanished, had been crazed to get the notebook from me; she was certain that a secret existed among those old pages—a secret so strong that it could conquer the Outfit. I hoped she was right. I hoped so hard that I stopped paying attention and drove into a trap. In the street ahead, a fallen electrical line jumped like a cobra on fire, spitting sparks. A skinny ComEd guy in a reflective vest and helmet used a flashlight to divert traffic around it, sending me down a flooded backstreet. I obeyed, driving slowly as water seeped beneath the doors of my car. Between slapping windshield wipers, I peered at a larger, burly ComEd guy waving me to a halt. The utility van sat with its orange siren twirling in the storm. It seemed so real that I stopped, just as instructed, sitting like a complacent fool until I saw his goggles. They were just like those worn by the other men who’d been chasing me for the past week—actually, less chasing than tracking, as if I were a deer in the woods rather than a girl in a 1965 Lincoln Continental. My latest pursuers were invisible until the last second, sneaking up in the rolling camouflage of the city—garbage trucks, taxicabs, and other vehicles that blended in unnoticed—until I realized how fast they were approaching. I’d escaped each previous time because I’d been hyperalert, as usual, and driving really, really fast. But now I’d been distracted by Doug’s text and found myself sitting stupidly, motionlessly, staring at the burly guy. If the goggles were meant to block cold fury, they were a weak defense. Then I saw a claw-head hammer in his hand. He swung once, shattering the driver’s window into jagged bits. I leaped for the passenger side but the other ComEd guy, the skinny one in the reflective vest, was jerking at the door, battering the window with the flashlight. He wore the same goggles above a gaunt face decorated with a dark goatee. I pushed into the back of the Lincoln, scrabbling a