NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • When mysterious faeries from other realms appear at her university, curmudgeonly professor Emily Wilde must uncover their secrets before it’s too late, in this heartwarming, enchanting second installment of the Emily Wilde series. AN ELLE BEST BOOK OF THE YEAR Emily Wilde is a genius scholar of faerie folklore who just wrote the world’s first comprehensive encyclopaedia of faeries. She’s learned many of the secrets of the Hidden Ones on her adventures . . . and also from her fellow scholar and former rival Wendell Bambleby. Because Bambleby is more than infuriatingly charming. He’s an exiled faerie king on the run from his murderous mother and in search of a door back to his realm. And despite Emily’s feelings for Bambleby, she’s not ready to accept his proposal of marriage: Loving one of the Fair Folk comes with secrets and dangers. She also has a new project to focus on: a map of the realms of faerie. While she is preparing her research, Bambleby lands her in trouble yet again, when assassins sent by his mother invade Cambridge. Now Bambleby and Emily are on another adventure, this time to the picturesque Austrian Alps, where Emily believes they may find the door to Bambleby’s realm and the key to freeing him from his family’s dark plans. But with new relationships for the prickly Emily to navigate and dangerous Folk lurking in every forest and hollow, Emily must unravel the mysterious workings of faerie doors and of her own heart. Book Two of the Emily Wilde Series Don’t miss any of Heather Fawcett’s charming Emily Wilde series: EMILY WILDE’S ENCYCLOPAEDIA OF FAERIES • EMILY WILDE’S MAP OF THE OTHERLANDS • EMILY WILDE’S COMPENDIUM OF LOST TALES “Like all good fairy tales, this book is enchantingly charming, with hints of razor-sharp teeth. My only complaint is that it ends; I want to live in Emily’s Otherlands forever.” —Kiersten White, #1 New York Times bestselling author of Mister Magic “Readers will be pleased that curmudgeonly Emily hasn’t lost too much of her edge, but she’s still susceptible to unexpected bonds of friendship.” — Booklist, starred review “Upping the danger and the darkness while still retaining all the beauty of the prose, this takes Emily’s story to new heights.” — Publishers Weekly “Love can change a person—or a faerie—in the most unexpected of ways, and it’s impossible to walk alongside Emily on her journey of scholarship, mapmaking and true love without rooting for her.” — BookPage “Wilde is a fantastic character: frosty and reserved, but also generous and kind. . . . In many ways, the second Emily Wilde book is even more compelling than the first.” — The Washington Post Heather Fawcett is the author the Emily Wilde Series, as well as a number of books for children and young adults, including Ember and the Ice Dragons, The Grace of Wild Things, and the series Even the Darkest Stars. She has a master’s degree in English literature and a bachelor’s in archaeology. She lives on Vancouver Island. 14th September 1910 The foot would not fit in my briefcase, so I wrapped it in cloth and wrestled it into an old knapsack I sometimes carry with me on expeditions. Surprisingly—or perhaps unsurprisingly, as it is a faerie foot—it is neither dirty nor foul-smelling. It is, of course, long mummified and would probably be mistaken for a goat’s foot by a casual observer, perhaps an unlikely offering excavated from the tomb of some ancient pharaoh. While it does not smell bad, since bringing the foot into my office I have at odd moments caught the scent of wildflowers and crushed grass carried on a little breeze whose source I cannot trace. I gazed at my now-bulging knapsack, feeling entirely ridiculous. Trust me when I say that I would rather not cart a foot around campus with me. But faerie remains, mummified or not, have been known to slip away as the fancy takes them, and I can only assume that feet are particularly inclined to such wanderlust. I shall have to keep it with me until its usefulness has been exhausted. Good grief. The soft chiming of the grandfather clock alerted me that I was late for breakfast with Wendell. I know from experience that if I miss our breakfast appointments he will bring the meal to me himself, in such a quantity that the entire department will smell of eggs, and then for the rest of the day I shall have to suffer Professor Thornthwaite sniping at me about his delicate stomach. I paused to pin my hair back up—it’s grown far too long, as I’ve spent the past several weeks descending into one of my obsessive periods, when I can think of little else beyond the subject of my research. And the question of Wendell’s door has consumed me more than any other academic mystery I can remember. My hair is not the only area of my appearance I have neglected of late—my brown dress is rumpled, and I am not altogether certain it is clean; I found it in a heap of other questionably laundered items on the