In the fourth volume of the New York Times bestselling Books of Elsewhere series, Olive thought she had uncovered all the house's secrets. She was wrong. It's Halloween night when strangers come to Linden Street . . . and something absolutely vital to Olive goes missing. To what lengths will she go to get it back? Can she trust the strangers? Will she turn to a new and dangerous magic within the paintings of Elsewhere? Or will Olive put her faith in her own worst enemies to save the people and home she loves? The stakes grow higher, the secrets more dangerous, and mystery and magic abound as Olive, the boys, and the magical cats uncover the true nature of the old stone house on Linden Street. A must-read fantasy series for fans of Pseudonymous Bosch, Coraline , and Septimus Heap. "This haunting fantasy thriller brings together the quirkiness of Roald Dahl." —Austin Family "The story was well-written, clever, and completely unpredictable...a great summer read that will let your imagination run wild." —TIME for Kids "Stunning." — Booklist A two-time Pushcart nominee for poetry, Jacqueline West came to writing by way of opera (she studied vocal performance) and acting (she worked as an actress at a dinner theatre while earning her degree). Looking back on it, it's hard for Jacqueline to believe she ever wanted to be an opera singer, but singing, acting, and writing have one thing in common, she says: "They're all about telling a story, about getting inside the mind of someone other than yourself." The Books of Elsewhere series was inspired by a strange old house in Jacqueline's home town--three floors, cracking paint, sagging porches--that was owned by a professor who created all sorts of odd contraptions. Like lots of kids who live mostly in their imaginations, Jacqueline was obsessed with all things mysterious, creepy, and darkly funny, and with stories where magic intersects with everyday life. She was enthralled by Roald Dahl, Lewis Carroll, John Bellairs, Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh , Calvin and Hobbes , Bunnicula , etc. Jacqueline lives with her husband and their dog, Brom Bones (of Sleepy Hollow fame) in Red Wing, MN. Her first YA novel, tentatively titled All Our Yesterdays, is on our winter 2014 list. Olive streaked toward the closest exit, a pair of doors that led not to the crowded front corridor, but to one of the school’s inner halls. She smacked through the doors, their heavy panels creaking open to let out the many running feet that came right behind her. Everyone shot out into the dark corridor, the cats racing protectively around Olive’s ankles, Morton reaching up to grab her gloved hand. They turned a corner into an even darker hall. Beneath their footsteps and her own gasping breath, Olive could hear the gym doors creaking open, releas-ing a blast of screams and laughter before whooshing shut again. . . . Leaving one more pair of footsteps to follow them into the darkness. OTHER BOOKS YOU MAY ENJOY The Books of Elsewhere: Volume 1: The Shadows Jacqueline West The Books of Elsewhere: Volume 2: Spellbound Jacqueline West The Books of Elsewhere: Volume 3: The Second Spy Jacqueline West Charlie and the Chocolate Factory Roald Dahl The Ghost’s Grave Peg Kehret Gilda Joyce, Psychic Investigator Jennifer Allison Matilda Roald Dahl Savvy Ingrid Law The Secret of Platform 13 Eva Ibbotson DIAL BOOKS FOR YOUNG READERS an imprint of Penguin Group (USA) Inc. 1 HOUSES ARE GOOD at keeping secrets. They shut out light. They muffle sounds. Some have musty attics and murky basements. Some have closets stacked with sealed boxes and locked rooms where no one ever goes. A house can stand with its windows curtained and its doors shut for decades—even centuries—without revealing a hint of what is hidden inside. The old stone house on Linden Street had kept its secrets for a very long time. For more than a hundred years, it had loomed at the crest of the hill, its towering black rooftops piercing a canopy of ancient trees. A pool of shadows surrounded the house, even on the sunniest days. Overgrown hedges enclosed its garden. Its deep-set windows were blurry and dark. Even in the height of summer, its stone walls exhaled a faint, grave-like chill, as though warmth and sunlight could never quite get in, and the darkness inside could never quite get out. But as this particular summer dwindled into autumn, and the ancient trees dropped their leaves, and the nights grew long and cool and dark, the secrets hidden in the old stone house seemed to rise, at long last, to the surface. On those lingering autumn evenings, dim red and purple lights began to glow from the house’s upper windows, where the silhouettes of watchful cats sat motionless on the sills. Cobwebs stretched across the porch. Headstones sprouted from the overgrown lawn, jutting up like crooked gray teeth. After sunset, when darkness covered the house, small, fiery faces flickered from the shadows around the front door