A brand-new cozy gothic series that’s The Inheritance Games for middle grade readers—filled with family curses, talking cats, and clever clues! “Mix Mr. Lemoncello with Wednesday Addams, and you’ll end up with the dark fun of The Grimlore Game !”—Chris Grabenstein, #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Mr. Lemoncello's Library series SOLVE THE PUZZLES. SURVIVE THE GAME. Orphan Kit Devlin knows two things for sure about her scheming relatives: 1) They’re cursed, with someone doomed to croak every three years like clockwork. 2) They only care about one thing: themselves. When wealthy Grandpa Ambrose dies, all the Devlins come running to his remote Scottish manor for their piece of the inheritance—only to find a mysterious, magical game instead. Whoever solves his riddles will win his fortune. But everything is not what it seems, like the crimson-eyed cat who only talks to Kit and the misfit cousin with secrets to hide. As the clues grow more perilous, Kit learns there’s more to the family curse—and her spellbinding connection to it—than she ever suspected. If she wants answers, she has to survive the game… and win. "Gothic, twisty, and so much fun."—Lindsay Currie, #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Mystery of Locked Rooms “[This] house full of mysteries and magical curses had me hooked from page one.” —Jen Calonita, New York Times bestselling author of Isle of Ever Praise for The Grimlore Game: " Gothic, twisty, and so much fun . I loved it!"— Lindsay Currie , #1 New York Times bestselling author of The Mystery of Locked Rooms “ Mix Mr. Lemoncello with Wednesday Addams, add a touch of Matilda , and you’ll end up with the dark fun of The Grimlore Game !”— Chris Grabenstein , #1 New York Times bestselling author of the Mr. Lemoncello's Library series “A determined orphan, a house full of mysteries and riddles, and a magical curse had me hooked from page one. A fantastical delight ." — Jen Calonita , New York Times bestselling author of Isle of Ever Kalyn Josephson is a New York Times bestselling author, sometimes-baker, and full-time consumer of too much tea. She lives on the California coast with two tiny black cats in a house in constant need of repair. She is the author of several fantasy series for kids, teens, and adults, as well as the owner of The Cove Books. Chapter 1 Kit Devlin couldn’t wait to get to the funeral. It wasn’t just that her aunt drove at a terrifying speed, weaving in and out of traffic like a needle through flesh. That would be enough to make any Devlin long for solid ground, not to mention instill a healthy fear of needles. But the funeral was, quite simply, the most interesting thing to happen in months. Because Devlins didn’t have funerals. No matter that one of them croaked on April 13th every three years like clockwork; in all her thirteen years of life, Kit had never been to a single Devlin memorial. Not even her own parents’. The invitation had shocked Kit as much as it had Aunt . . . what was her name again? Mildred? Matilda? Maleficent? No, that was an insult to dragons everywhere. But after bouncing from uncle to cousin to distant relative the last six months since the family curse claimed her father, Kit had given up on learning their names. She had only been with Aunt Something or Another—­or Aunt SORA, as Kit had begun to think of her—­for a week, but it wouldn’t be long before she was passing Kit off to the next relative, along with words like unmanageable , morbid , and, worst of all, impolite . Aunt Sora’s manicured fingers gave the wheel a hard jerk to the left, sending the luxury sports car at a dead sprint for the nearest exit. Kit swallowed a surge of nausea and adjusted her hold on Gregor, the tarantula curled up in her dress pocket. The silver death trap hit the roundabout at a steady forty miles per hour, only Aunt Sora’s unwavering determination keeping the car planted as it shot out the other side of the curve. The Scottish countryside unfurled alongside them like a scroll in shades of green, the sky a foreboding October gray. Spots of white sheep broke up the rolling hills, the occasional farmhouse emerging from the heavy fog as they sped past. Mist beaded on the car’s windshield, the wipers steadfastly brushing it away. The endless loop of scrape, mist, repeat numbed Kit’s thoughts until, mercifully, the car turned onto a narrow, winding drive that forced even Aunt Sora to slow. The woods thickened on either side of them, reaching overhead like long fingers beckoning them inward. Kit craned her neck for a better look as the road opened into a gravel parking lot fit for a manor home. A series of unnecessarily expensive cars in canary yellow, electric blue, and, in one case, a sickening cherry red were lined up pinpoint neat on either side of the drive, leaving Kit to imagine they had all been parked in perfect synchronization. Aunt Sora maneuvered her vehicle alongside them and kill