Wicked Lovely (Wicked Lovely Series #1) by Melissa Marr

From Barnes & Noble

All teenagers have problems, but few of them can match those of Aislinn, who has the power to see faeries. Quite understandably, she wishes that she could share her friends' obliviousness and tries hard to avoid these invisible intruders. But one faery in particular refuses to leave her alone. Keenan the Summer King is convinced beyond all reasoning that Aislinn is the queen he has been seeking for nine centuries. What's a 21st-century girl to do when she's stalked by a suitor nobody else can see? A debut fantasy romance for the ages; superlative summer read.

From the Publisher

Rule #3: Don't stare at invisible faeries.

Aislinn has always seen faeries. Powerful and dangerous, they walk hidden in mortal world. Aislinn fears their cruelty—especially if they learn of her Sight—and wishes she were as blind to their presence as other teens.

Rule #2: Don't speak to invisible faeries.

Now faeries are stalking her. One of them, Keenan, who is equal parts terrifying and alluring, is trying to talk to her, asking questions Aislinn is afraid to answer.

Rule #1: Don't ever attract their attention.

But it's too late. Keenan is the Summer King who has sought his queen for nine centuries. Without her, summer itself will perish. He is determined that Aislinn will become the Summer Queen at any cost—regardless of her plans or desires.

Suddenly none of the rules that have kept Aislinn safe are working anymore, and everything is on the line: her freedom; her best friend, Seth; her life; everything.

Faerie intrigue, mortal love, and the clash of ancient rules and modern expectations swirl together in Melissa Marr's stunning 21^st century faery tale.

The Washington Post - Annette Curtis Klause

Melissa Marr adds elegantly to the sub-genre of Urban Faery with this enticing, well-researched fantasy for teens … The romantic scenes are delicious. The fantasy of being pursued by two young men is alluring in itself, but when one is a pierced and tattooed sexy outsider and the other is a blindingly beautiful King of Faery, how much better can it get? Halfway through the book, I knew which characters I wanted to end up together, and that made me read greedily on. Readers will beg for a sequel.

VOYA

Seventeen-year-old Aislinn, a Catholic schoolgirl, sees faeries. This "gift" is a true torment because although they are beautiful beings, it turns out that faeries are frivolous, self-centered, and vicious. Aislinn has learned from her grandmother not to interact with these fey folk, but this warning is quickly disregarded when Keenan, the glorious faerie Summer King, singles her out to be the next Summer Queen. What follows is a game of seduction and betrayal as Keenan's mother, the odious Winter Queen, works overtime to keep her son from "the one" who could help him bring order from the existing chaos in the various faerie royal courts and stop the creeping cold weather, which goes on longer every year. Complicating the matter of Aislinn's assuming her role of Summer Queen is the fact that she is in love with the amazingly tolerant and protective human, Seth. This story, about two hundred pages too long, is thin of plot, shallow of character, illogical in setting, and contrived in conclusion. The modern references-faeries using cell phones and a potential lover displaying a clean STD report-are inconsistent with the attempted supernatural plot elements. Aislinn's struggle to define her own destiny might appeal to angst-ridden teenage girls; however, they will more likely identify with the tragic minor character Donia than the obtuse Aislinn.

KLIATT

Aislinn, a mortal teenager, has the gift, or perhaps curse, of being able to see faeries. She has always been able to see them, has been distracted by their presence, but has always done her best to ignore them and not let on that she sees them. When Aislinn begins to notice an increase in faeries, she is disconcerted. Her worries multiply when she discovers she is being trailed by two faeries in particular, who believe her to be their rightful queen. Unfortunately for Aislinn, she has no say in the matter. Though Aislinn desperately wishes to remain mortal and have the faeries leave her alone, she grows to understand that is not an option. If she truly is the Summer Queen, she will rule beside Keenan, the Summer King, and work to overthrow Beira, the Winter Queen and Keenan's mother. If she fails the test for Queen, Aislinn will become a Winter Girl, doomed to cold and fear until another girl comes along to take her place. Marr's story weaves between the mortal realm and the faerie world. Aislinn is aggressive, demanding, forthright, and modern, in spite of all of her fears and uncertainties. Her calm, in tense situations with the court and in her daily struggles to ignore the faeries, is admirable. As the full extent of Aislinn's circumstances is revealed, readers will be hooked by her tale and surely pick up the next book, Ink Exchange. Reviewer: Amanda MacGregor

School Library Journal

Gr 9 Up -Aislinn knows about faeries. She has seen them all her life and her grandmother has taught her the rules. Don't stare at faeries. Don't speak to faeries. Don't attract the attention of faeries. She has seen the malicious behavior of faeries and wants a normal high school life. The rules have kept her safe for years. Imagine her dismay when the faeries begin stalking her and whispering, "do you think she's the one?" When Keenan, a faerie king, pursues Aislinn, she confides in her best friend Seth who accepts the idea of the unseen with ease. Together they face the faeries and learn that Keenan is the Summer King and believes Aislinn to be his queen. What develops is an intriguing triangle as both Seth and Keenan begin to court Aislinn. Melissa Marr's debut novel (HarperTeen, 2007) shows strength in both character and setting. Aislinn is an admirable protagonist, insisting on following her own path. Teen girls will flip over strong, sexy Seth. Marr's faerie world Marr is a fascinating mixture of the ancient and the modern. The story translates beautifully to audio, and narrator Alyssa Bresnahan is pitch-perfect in her delivery. The sexual tension is subtle but makes the story more appropriate for older listeners. Recommend this intriguing fantasy romance to fans of Stephenie Meyer's "Twilight" series.-Tricia Melgaard, Centennial Middle School, Broken Arrow, OK

Kirkus Reviews

This steamy faery story reads like a torrid girl's fantasy and will produce some swoons. Aislinn's spent her life terrified of the faeries ("fey") all around her, invisible to other humans. They smack and trip each other, leer and wound; to remain safe, she can't let them know she sees. Her only safe space is inside the funky train-car home of sexy friend Seth. Fey can't enter because steel hurts them-or does it? The old rules are changing. Two faeries stalk Aislinn, paying unprecedented and disturbing personal attention. Readers know early that Aislinn's destined to become a faerie monarch and rule as Summer Queen beside Keenan, the Summer King, whom readers may find obnoxious or dreamy. Marr's consistent labeling of the situation as a "game" doesn't match the dire possibilities: The earth will freeze if Aislinn isn't Summer Queen, but she wants to live a regular life, including college, cell phones and tattoos. Meanwhile, it's Keenan's job to woo Aislinn, but his old love (currently the lonely holder of winter's chill) may die if he's successful. Overlong wish-fulfillment, but enjoyably sultry. (Fantasy. YA)

Product Details

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Read an Excerpt

Wicked Lovely SNY

Chapter One

"Four-ball, side pocket." Aislinn pushed the cue forward with a short, quick thrust; the ball dropped into the pocket with a satisfying clack.

Her playing partner, Denny, motioned toward a harder shot, a bank shot.

She rolled her eyes. "What? You in a hurry?"

He pointed with the cue.

"Right." Focus and control, that's what it's all about. She sank the two.

He nodded once, as close as he got to praise.

Aislinn circled the table, paused, and chalked the cue. Around her the cracks of balls colliding, low laughter, even the endless stream of country and blues from the jukebox kept her grounded in the real world: the human world, the safe world. It wasn't the only world, no matter how much Aislinn wanted it to be. But it hid the other world—the ugly one—for brief moments.

"Three, corner pocket." She sighted down the cue. It was a good shot.

Focus. Control.

Then she felt it: warm air on her skin. A faery, its too-hot breath on her neck, sniffed her hair. His pointed chin pressed against her skin. All the focus in the world didn't make Pointy-Face's attention tolerable.

She scratched: the only ball that dropped was the cue ball.

Denny took the ball in hand. "What was that?"

"Weak-assed?" She forced a smile, looking at Denny, at the table, anywhere but at the horde coming in the door. Even when she looked away, she heard them: laughing and squealing, gnashing teeth and beating wings, a cacophony she couldn't escape. They were out in droves now, freer somehow as evening fell,invading her space, ending any chance of the peace she'd sought.

Denny didn't stare at her, didn't ask hard questions. He just motioned for her to step away from the table and called out, "Gracie, play something for Ash."

At the jukebox Grace keyed in one of the few not-country-or-blues songs: Limp Bizkit's "Break Stuff."

As the oddly comforting lyrics in that gravelly voice took off, building to the inevitable stomach-tightening rage, Aislinn smiled. If I could let go like that, let the years of aggression spill out onto the fey... She slid her hand over the smooth wood of the cue, watching Pointy-Face gyrate beside Grace. I'd start with him. Right here, right now. She bit her lip. Of course, everyone would think she was utterly mad if she started swinging her cue at invisible bodies, everyone but the fey.

Before the song was over, Denny had cleared the table.

"Nice." Aislinn walked over to the wall rack and slid the cue back into an empty spot. Behind her, Pointy-Face giggled—high and shrill—and tore out a couple strands of her hair.

"Rack 'em again?" But Denny's tone said what he didn't: that he knew the answer before he asked. He didn't know why, but he could read the signs.

Pointy-Face slid the strands of her hair over his face.

Aislinn cleared her throat. "Rain check?"

"Sure." Denny began disassembling his cue. The regulars never commented on her odd mood swings or unexplainable habits.

She walked away from the table, murmuring good-byes as she went, consciously not staring at the faeries. They moved balls out of line, bumped into people—anything to cause trouble—but they hadn't stepped in her path tonight, not yet. At the table nearest the door, she paused. "I'm out of here."

One of the guys straightened up from a pretty combination shot. He rubbed his goatee, stroking the gray-shot hair. "Cinderella time?"

"You know how it is—got to get home before the shoe falls off." She lifted her foot, clad in a battered tennis shoe. "No sense tempting any princes." He snorted and turned back to the table.

A doe-eyed faery eased across the room; bone-thin with too many joints, she was vulgar and gorgeous all at once. Her eyes were far too large for her face, giving her a startled look. Combined with an emaciated body, those eyes made her seem vulnerable, innocent. She wasn't.

None of them are.

The woman at the table beside Aislinn flicked a long ash into an already overflowing ashtray. "See you next weekend."

Aislinn nodded, too tense to answer.

In a blurringly quick move, Doe-Eyes flicked a thin blue tongue out at a cloven-hoofed faery. The faery stepped back, but a trail of blood already dripped down his hollowed cheeks. Doe-Eyes giggled.

Aislinn bit her lip, hard, and lifted a hand in a last half wave to Denny. Focus. She fought to keep her steps even, calm: everything she wasn't feeling inside.

She stepped outside, lips firmly shut against dangerous words. She wanted to speak, to tell the fey to leave so she didn't have to, but she couldn't. Ever. If she did, they'd know her secret: they'd know she could see them.

The only way to survive was to keep that secret; Grams taught her that rule before she could even write her name: Keep your head down and your mouth closed. It felt wrong to have to hide, but if she even hinted at such a rebellious idea, Grams would have her in lockdown—homeschooled, no pool halls, no parties, no freedom, no Seth. She'd spent enough time in that situation during middle school.

Never again.

So—rage in check—Aislinn headed downtown, toward the relative safety of iron bars and steel doors. Whether in its base form or altered into the purer form of steel, iron was poisonous to fey and thus gloriously comforting to her. Despite the faeries that walked her streets, Huntsdale was home. She'd visited Pittsburgh, walked around D.C., explored Atlanta. They were nice enough, but they were too thriving, too alive, too filled with parks and trees. Huntsdale wasn't thriving. It hadn't been for years. That meant the fey didn't thrive here either.

Read a Sample Chapter

Wicked Lovely

HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.

Chapter One

"Four-ball, side pocket." Aislinn pushed the cue forward with a short, quick thrust; the ball dropped into the pocket with a satisfying clack.

Her playing partner, Denny, motioned toward a harder shot, a bank shot.

She rolled her eyes. "What? You in a hurry?"

He pointed with the cue.

"Right." Focus and control, that's what it's all about. She sank the two.

He nodded once, as close as he got to praise.

Aislinn circled the table, paused, and chalked the cue. Around her the cracks of balls colliding, low laughter, even the endless stream of country and blues from the jukebox kept her grounded in the real world: the human world, the safe world. It wasn't the only world, no matter how much Aislinn wanted it to be. But it hid the other world—the ugly one—for brief moments.

"Three, corner pocket." She sighted down the cue. It was a good shot.

Focus. Control.

Then she felt it: warm air on her skin. A faery, its too-hot breath on her neck, sniffed her hair. His pointed chin pressed against her skin. All the focus in the world didn't make Pointy-Face's attention tolerable.

She scratched: the only ball that dropped was the cue ball.

Denny took the ball in hand. "What was that?"

"Weak-assed?" She forced a smile, looking at Denny, at the table,anywhere but at the horde coming in the door. Even when she looked away, she heard them: laughing and squealing, gnashing teeth and beating wings, a cacophony she couldn't escape. They were out in droves now, freer somehow as evening fell, invading her space, ending any chance of the peace she'd sought.

Denny didn't stare at her, didn't ask hard questions. He just motioned for her to step away from the table and called out, "Gracie, play something for Ash."

At the jukebox Grace keyed in one of the few not-country-or-blues songs: Limp Bizkit's "Break Stuff."

As the oddly comforting lyrics in that gravelly voice took off, building to the inevitable stomach-tightening rage, Aislinn smiled. If I could let go like that, let the years of aggression spill out onto the fey . . . She slid her hand over the smooth wood of the cue, watching Pointy-Face gyrate beside Grace. I'd start with him. Right here, right now. She bit her lip. Of course, everyone would think she was utterly mad if she started swinging her cue at invisible bodies, everyone but the fey.

Before the song was over, Denny had cleared the table.

"Nice." Aislinn walked over to the wall rack and slid the cue back into an empty spot. Behind her, Pointy-Face giggled—high and shrill—and tore out a couple strands of her hair.

"Rack 'em again?" But Denny's tone said what he didn't: that he knew the answer before he asked. He didn't know why, but he could read the signs.

Pointy-Face slid the strands of her hair over his face.

Aislinn cleared her throat. "Rain check?"

"Sure." Denny began disassembling his cue. The regulars never commented on her odd mood swings or unexplainable habits.

She walked away from the table, murmuring good-byes as she went, consciously not staring at the faeries. They moved balls out of line, bumped into people—anything to cause trouble—but they hadn't stepped in her path tonight, not yet. At the table nearest the door, she paused. "I'm out of here."

One of the guys straightened up from a pretty combination shot. He rubbed his goatee, stroking the gray-shot hair. "Cinderella time?"

"You know how it is—got to get home before the shoe falls off." She lifted her foot, clad in a battered tennis shoe. "No sense tempting any princes." He snorted and turned back to the table.

A doe-eyed faery eased across the room; bone-thin with too many joints, she was vulgar and gorgeous all at once. Her eyes were far too large for her face, giving her a startled look. Combined with an emaciated body, those eyes made her seem vulnerable, innocent. She wasn't.

None of them are.

The woman at the table beside Aislinn flicked a long ash into an already overflowing ashtray. "See you next weekend."

Aislinn nodded, too tense to answer.

In a blurringly quick move, Doe-Eyes flicked a thin blue tongue out at a cloven-hoofed faery. The faery stepped back, but a trail of blood already dripped down his hollowed cheeks. Doe-Eyes giggled.

Aislinn bit her lip, hard, and lifted a hand in a last half wave to Denny. Focus. She fought to keep her steps even, calm: everything she wasn't feeling inside.

She stepped outside, lips firmly shut against dangerous words. She wanted to speak, to tell the fey to leave so she didn't have to, but she couldn't. Ever. If she did, they'd know her secret: they'd know she could see them.

The only way to survive was to keep that secret; Grams taught her that rule before she could even write her name: Keep your head down and your mouth closed. It felt wrong to have to hide, but if she even hinted at such a rebellious idea, Grams would have her in lockdown—homeschooled, no pool halls, no parties, no freedom, no Seth. She'd spent enough time in that situation during middle school.

Never again.

So—rage in check—Aislinn headed downtown, toward the relative safety of iron bars and steel doors. Whether in its base form or altered into the purer form of steel, iron was poisonous to fey and thus gloriously comforting to her. Despite the faeries that walked her streets, Huntsdale was home. She'd visited Pittsburgh, walked around D.C., explored Atlanta. They were nice enough, but they were too thriving, too alive, too filled with parks and trees. Huntsdale wasn't thriving. It hadn't been for years. That meant the fey didn't thrive here either.

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Excerpted from Wicked Lovely by Melissa Marr Copyright © 2007 by Melissa Marr. Excerpted by permission.
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