I am thrilled to be hosting a spot
on the HOUSE OF ELEPHANTS by Claribel A. Ortega Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours. Check out
my post and make sure to enter the giveaway!
About The Book:
Author: Claribel A.
Ortega
Pub. Date: October
1, 2024
Publisher: Scholastic
Press
Formats: Hardcover,
Paperback, eBook, audiobook
Pages: 432
Find it: Goodreads, https://books2read.com/HOUSE-OF-ELEPHANTS
From New York Times bestselling
and award-winning author Claribel A. Ortega: The third bookin the spellbinding
Witchlings series!
It's been months since the end of the
Golden Frog Games, and a cure for the hex that turned young witches to stone
still hasn't been found. Seven and Thorn want nothing more than to find a way
to heal their friends, but everything they try ends in failure.
When the Black Moon Ceremony arrives
earlier than expected, Seven and Thorn take it as a chance to welcome any new
Spares into their coven. But rather than welcoming a few Spares like they
thought, all the witchlings in the ceremony are chosen to
enter the Spare coven!
The new Spares are met with anger
from the Hill Society. They create more unfair laws that ban Spares from using
magic and being equals in Twelve Towns society! On top of all that, Spares
start disappearing. And no one seems to care.
As Seven and Thorn struggle to find a
cure for the stone hex and to stop the Twelve Town's unfair treatment of Spares
once and for all, they discover a piece of hidden history that will change
everything-if they can get anyone to listen to them.
Grab the first 2 books in the
WITCHLINGS series now!
Excerpt:
CHAPTER ONE
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, VALLEY
IT HAPPENED BY CHANCE, thirteen
years ago, that all three Witchlings were born in the month of All
Hallows Eve. Seven was born on the final day of October, just as
the final leaf fell from the final tree in the Cursed Forest. Thorn was
born on the warmest day of autumn that year, the sun so bright and
reluctant to set that witches forwent their warmer cloaks. The first to
be born, the oldest of the three Witchlings, was Valley Pepperhorn.
And today she would turn thirteen years old.
Or at least, she was supposed to.
Seven Salazar wasn’t sure if you still got a year older if you had been
turned into stone, but she and Thorn Laroux were determined to
celebrate Valley Pepperhorn’s thirteenth either way.
It had been six long months since
the Golden Frog Games, when the hexers upended the Twelve Towns.
Four stone statues, the victims of Lotus Evenstar and an unknown
accomplice, remained in Ravenskill’s Bluewing Infirmary like some gruesome
monument, while Lotus
herself awaited sentencing in the
Tombs. They were no closer to a cure, the archaic magic snaking ever
closer to the hexed witches’ hearts. If that happened . . . they’d
be stone forever. But that couldn’t be Valley’s fate. Seven would
die herself first.
Seven stood in front of the rows
of flowers at Valley’s feet. Ever since the hexings, witches from all
over the Twelve Towns had come to pay tribute to the stone witches—
the name they’d come up with in the Squawking Crow. Valley had
been moved into a separate room on an elevated platform, both because of
the vast number of flowers other Spares brought every day and because, more
than once, witches had tried to vandalize or smash her statue. “ Here,
I’ll clear a path,” Seven said as she flicked her wrist and the flowers
parted for them. Seven’s magic had continued to bloom in disquieting
ways. Powerful word less spells, magic above her level, the ability to
conjure from thin air, all things no Spare had ever been able to do.
Until Seven Nightshade Salazar.
Soon they were looking up at
Valley: three Witchlings, three best friends, standing together as they
were always meant to, but twisted by the cruel hand of destiny.
Even in their most harrowing moments, they had never imagined things
would turn out like this.
“I wonder if she can still hear
us,” Seven pondered aloud.
“She can.” Thorn pushed her jet-
black hair behind one ear, her brow furrowed in defiance. Her hair had
gotten longer, almost to her shoulders, and she’d added a pink streak
the same color as Valley’s hair in tribute to her friend.
“Yeah, you’re right.” Seven smiled
softly. “She can definitely hear us.”
She knew better than to push back
when it came to Valley and Thorn. Thorn had been having a hard time
ever since the games. She wasn’t sleeping well, she was forgetting to
eat, and she had become more than a bit obsessed with Valley. One summer
night as they sat on the roof outside Seven’s bedroom window, looking at
the stars, Thorn had told her that the pain in her heart brought
her back to the most wretched moment of her life— losing Valley had
reminded her of losing her twin brother, Petal.
“Maybe for now, you can just take
it one day at a time,” Seven had said. “You can focus on that accelerated
costura program, right?”
“I don’t deserve it. I shouldn’t
be happy. Not when Valley is like that,” Thorn had said.
Dr. Blackwood had called it
“survivor’s guilt” when Seven spoke to him about it. Thorn kept losing
the people she loved most, and she thought it was somehow her
fault. Seven didn’t know what to say or do, so she just stayed by her
side. She really hoped that was enough.
“It’s too cold in here,” Thorn
said, unwrapping a carefully tied bundle of fabric.
She got up slowly, as if her bones
ached. Without a word, Seven flicked her wrist and sent Thorn
levitating a few toadstools off the ground until she was level with
Valley. More magic she shouldn’t be able to do. Thorn draped Valley’s
shoulders in a beautiful glittering scarf she’d made for her.
“This will help if you’re cold,”
Thorn said softly, before reaching out to touch Valley’s cheek and then
pulling back. Seven helped her float back down gently. They sat
side by side, looking up at Valley’s stone form. Her face was frozen in
the same expression of determination she’d had when she’d thrown herself
in front of Seven, saving her and becoming a statue in her place. The only
difference from that night was the scarf and a small bracelet clasped
around her wrist— from Valley’s girlfriend, Graves Shadowmend.
A pang of white- hot pain rushed
over Seven as she remembered the horrible night. Some days the guilt
was so strong, she felt it might consume her. They had stopped
Lotus, but her accomplice was still on the loose and it had left Seven
uneasy. Finding a cure for Valley and the other victims was their top
priority, sure, but finding the other hexer was too— before something
like this happened again.
“ We’re trying hard to bring you
back, Val,” Thorn said, her eyes filling with tears.
Seven nodded and slid her hand
over Thorn’s. “Happy birthday, Valley,” Seven said.
“Happy birthday,” Thorn said, her
voice hitching on a sob. She turned her head and buried it in Seven’s
shoulder, and Seven just let her cry, patting her head with her free
hand, her own face wet with tears. Turning thirteen in the Twelve Towns
was supposed to be special, important. Like the quinces of the humdrum
world. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. In the distance,
Seven heard the unmistakable sound of Nightbeast cubs growling cutely,
and it calmed her erratic breathing a bit. Seven reached into her cloak pocket
and pulled out a small parcel containing mini bizcochos— cream-
filled sponge cakes with light pink frosting that fizzled when you
ate them, which she knew were Thorn’s favorite. They were still warm from
the oven, and she had spent hours and caused a disastrous mess in the
kitchen making them, but they had turned out . . . sort of okay.
“Do you want some?” Seven asked
hopefully. Thorn looked up, her eyes red and her face puffy. “Are those
bizcochos?”
“Erm . . . they’re supposed to
be?” Seven smirked and Thorn gave the smallest of smiles. It felt like
breathing fresh air again to see her friend smile.
Thorn took one of the misshapen
cakes and ate it in three bites.
“When’s the last time you ate?”
Seven asked. Thorn shrugged. “I don’t know. I think yesterday.” Seven handed
her another cake, and Thorn ate this one as well. Good. Now, if Seven
could only find a way to make her sleep a full night, they’d be getting
somewhere. “ We’re gonna be late,” Seven said once all the cakes were gone.
Thorn wiped her tears and nodded. “Let’s go.” Thorn got up and held her hand
out for her friend. As they walked away, Seven turned to look at
Valley one more time. Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but she
could’ve sworn her friend’s expression had changed— that it was just as
sad and hopeless as theirs. Seven and Thorn walked out of the Bluewing
Infirmary and into the crisp fall evening. Seven could see the eyes of
her raccoons glowing in the dark, and then slipping away into the shadows
as she entered the busy part of town. Ravenskill was filled with the buzz
of energy that always came on this night, the night of the Black Moon
Ceremony. Normally, it was much later in the month, but for whatever
reason it had come early this year, leaving Sybell the Oracle
perplexed.
“The magic in this town is topsy-
turvy, I swear,” they had said as they recounted their discovery to Seven
over tea one evening. The Stars had told them when the ceremony was to
take place, and despite Sybell demanding an explanation from their
celestial ancestors, the Stars did not explain themselves to anyone. They
just did as they saw fit.
Seven was just grateful for the
heads-up about the ceremony, because the two Witchlings had made a
vow that when the new Spares were sorted, they would be there to
welcome them.
Every year, Spares hung
their heads in shame as they walked away from downtown Ravenskill. As
their friends and fellow witches celebrated by taking their very
first broom flights, they spent the night alone and afraid for their
future. Seven remembered it well: looking up into the skylights of her
attic bedroom on the night of her own Black Moon Ceremony, as witches
flew overhead among the stars, her face tear streaked and red. She could
not change the unfairness, the cruelty, of being cast away as a
Spare, but she could do something else— prove to Spares that there was hope.
After all, hadn’t she and
Thorn done great things? Hadn’t Valley shown bravery and friendship
deserving of honor and celebration? Hadn’t Thorn overcome her greatest
fear and fought alongside the Nightbeast? Hadn’t Seven shown that a Spare
could be powerful, an Uncle only second to the Gran, even if that power
was secretly monstrous? If the adults in this town wouldn’t
recognize that Spares were worthy of love too, then Seven and Thorn
would be the ones to show the Spares they were just as important and
capable, just as much a part of Ravenskill, as any other witch.
“I’ve never seen so many witches
at the Black Moon Ceremony,” said Thorn as they made their way to
the gathering. The streets were decorated in twinkling lights and
enormous floral arrangements in vases so fancy Seven felt they looked a
bit out of place in their town. Ravenskill was a beautiful place— a
friendly town, as their official motto suggested— but it had never
been extravagant.
As part of her costura training,
Thorn had been assigned to help design the decorations around town,
and particularly in the Ravenskill Theater. Gold ribbons were
threaded through the weeping willows like plaits of long, flowing hair.
Twelve soapstone columns erected along the path to the ceremony were
embellished with intricate carvings of Ravenskillian history. Enchanted
orbs above each column lit up the pathway, washing the town in a
warm amber glow. Witches sat on ancient- looking benches made of
twirling, twisted ore, and bird houses adorned with gems hung from the
trees. The birds fluttered in and out, singing friendly songs about Seven
as they did.
“It’s not the normal style, but it
is beautiful,” Seven said, waving at a cooing pigeon.
Thorn shrugged. “They gave us the
strict direction to stick to olden days decor; it’s all this kind of Hill
style. They’re making a fuss this year because the town is
famous.”
Not the town. Us, Seven
thought. Their Black Moon Ceremony had become infamous. Books about them
were sold in stores and a special documentary, Stupendous
Spares: Heroes? Or Menaces?, had even been made for the telecast.
Guides on how to avoid your coven circle not closing and on avoiding the
impossible task— all inspired by Seven, Valley, and Thorn’s dilemma last
year— were also particularly popular, with advice like “Smile
through it all, no matter what!” and “Better a Spare than a hum drum,
after all!” There were even Stupendous Spares pins and posters in the
gift shops around town. Embarrassing.
“My my, the town is quite busy
tonight, isn’t it?” observed Edgar Allan Toad from her pocket.
“If it gets too loud, let me know.
I’ll put a quieting spell on your habitat,” Seven said.
“Pfft. I’m not that old yet. I can
handle a little ruckus,” Edgar said.
“Hmm, you’re pretty old . .
.”
“Did you know toads have performed
hexes before? Deadly ones. Quite interesting.”
Seven put her hands up in
surrender. She wondered if that was true.
“What’s he saying?” Thorn
asked.
“You don’t wanna know,” Seven said
with a scared little laugh.
As they approached the theater,
eyes followed their every move, something Seven had become somewhat accustomed
to. In the year since their own ceremony, the one constant had been
witches staring and gossiping about them.
“Spares this way! This way, all
Spares!” A Gran’s Guard dressed head to toe in golden armor ushered
Spares through a separate line, leading them toward the far end of the
square.
“Come on, we’re on the balcony,”
Thorn said, grabbing Seven’s hand and walking up to the outside seating
over looking the town square. Seven looked back at the line of Spares—
they’d barely be able to see from their designated area, while she and
Thorn sat overlooking the whole event. It stirred something in her, an
uneasy feeling taking hold of her heart.
They fought their way through the
throngs of witches and emerged on the airy balcony, where Seven’s
parents, Fox and Talis, along with her ever- growing baby brother,
Beefy, were already sitting with Thorn’s family. Valley’s mother, Quill,
would normally be with them, but she hadn’t been out much lately. Not
because she was ashamed . . . but because she was busy. And Seven
and Thorn knew all too well what she was busy with. Pixel Gibbons,
a Spare— and a Laroux family friend who worked at Mrs. Laroux’s boutique
as an assistant— also sat with them, happily fussing over a cooing Beefy.
She still wore her hair in her signature cropped cut, but now,
unlike when she was employed by the butt- toad Dimblewit family, her
clothing was beautiful and she FOR REVIEW PURPOSES ONLY
had the healthy glow provided by
good meals and rest. As Seven looked around, she noticed that in one
shrouded corner of the square, a cluster of witches stood motionless.
They wore head- to- toe black and gray, veils covering their faces. They
had begun appearing around town a few weeks after the Golden Frog Games
in the spring, some sort of cult, every one said. Seven wasn’t sure
who they were or what they wanted aside from the anti Spare pamphlets they were
always scattering around town, but she did know one thing: They
frightened her. “I was starting to worry,” Fox said as Seven slid into
her seat.
“We were just visiting Val,” Seven
said. Fox kissed the top of her head and took her hand as they
waited. Normally, Fox didn’t worry so much. Ever since Valley’s stonification
though, the girls’ parents had been on edge. Understandably so.
“Pictures!” A witch on a broom
glided through the night air toward them. A long green cape floated
behind her, a small witch’s reporter hat, embroidered with little
felt cameras and stars, tipped on her head. She was holding a completely
see- through camera as she hovered right in front of the balcony. They
all smiled, Seven throwing her arm around Thorn’s shoulder as the witch
snapped a few pictures, then nodded.
“You can buy copies at the Squawking
Crow offices!” she called out as she flew toward the night’s
Witchlings to take pictures. Seven wondered suddenly, her heart
giving the smallest flutter of excitement, if Tiordan Whisperbrew was
in the crowd. If they were . . . maybe Seven could finally meet her
lifelong idol.
“Beefy, no!” Fox said as the giant
toddler picked up one of the crystal candelabras at the far end of the
balcony. “I hope these are, oof, insured,” Talis said as he wrested the
crystal candelabra from Beefy’s grip. “Aw, butt- toad,” Beefy said, pouting. It
was his new favorite word.
Fox shot him a look and Beefy
blushed. “Sowy, Mommy.” “Come, Beef,” Seven said, and her baby brother toddled
over and sat down beside her. Beefy was only two, but he was already the
size of a five- year- old Witchling. At this rate, he’d be taller than
their parents soon. Just as Talis wiped the sweat from his forehead, the
Gran emerged and the crowd below them went silent. It was time to
begin.
“Welcome to the Black Moon Ceremony!” said the Gran, to cheers and applause. A petrifying crash of thunder erupted in the sky, and every one jumped and yelled out in collective surprise. Seven Salazar should’ve known then that every thing was about to go very, very wrong.
About Claribel A. Ortega:
Claribel A. Ortega, New York Times bestselling author of Ghost Squad, Witchlings, and Frizzy (Pura Belpre Award-winner), is a former reporter who writes middle grade and young adult fantasy inspired by her Dominican heritage. When she's not busy turning her obsession with eighties pop culture, magic, and video games into books, she's cohosting her podcasts Write or Die and Bad Author Book Club and helping authors navigate publishing with her consulting business, GIFGRRL. Claribel has been featured on BuzzFeed, NPR, Good Morning America, and Deadline. You can find her on Twitter, Instagram, and TikTok at @Claribel_Ortega and on her website at claribelortega.com.
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Giveaway Details:
1 winner
will receive a finished copy of HOUSE OF ELEPHANTS, US Only.
Ends October 31st, midnight EST.
a Rafflecopter giveawayTour Schedule:
Week One:
|
9/30/2024 |
Excerpt |
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10/1/2024 |
Excerpt/IG Post |
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10/2/2024 |
Excerpt/IG Post |
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10/3/2024 |
IG Post |
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10/4/2024 |
Excerpt/IG Post |
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10/5/2024 |
IG Post |
Week Two:
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10/6/2024 |
IG Review |
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10/7/2024 |
TikTok Post |
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10/8/2024 |
Review/IG Post |
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10/9/2024 |
Review/IG Post |
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10/10/2024 |
Review/IG Post |
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10/11/2024 |
IG Review |
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10/12/2024 |
IG Review |
Week Three:
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10/13/2024 |
Review/IG Post |
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10/14/2024 |
Review/IG Post |
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10/15/2024 |
IG Review |
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10/16/2024 |
IG Review |
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10/17/2024 |
Review |
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10/18/2024 |
IG Review/TikTok Post |
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10/19/2024 |
Review |
Week Four:
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10/20/2024 |
IG Review/TikTok Post |
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10/21/2024 |
Review/IG Post |
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10/22/2024 |
Review/IG Post |
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10/23/2024 |
IG Review/LFL Drop Pic/TikTok Post |
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10/24/2024 |
Review/IG Post |
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10/25/2024 |
IG Review |
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