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"Vivid and bloody and bold and fast—I feel like Razorhurst is in my bones now."
—#1 New York Times bestselling author Elizabeth Gilbert
The notoriously bloody history of a mob-run Sydney, Australia neighborhood is fertile ground for this historical thriller with a paranormal twist: two girls' ability to see the many ghosts haunting Razorhurst.
Sydney’s deadly Razorhurst neighborhood, 1932. Gloriana Nelson and Mr. Davidson, two ruthless mob bosses, have reached a fragile peace—one maintained by “razor men.” Kelpie, orphaned and homeless, is blessed (and cursed) with the ability to see Razorhurst’s many ghosts. They tell secrets that the living can’t know about the cracks already forming in the mobs’ truce.
Kelpie meets Dymphna Campbell, Gloriana’s prize moll, over the body of the latest of Dymphna’s beaus to meet an untimely end—a string that’s earned her the nickname the “Angel of Death.” Dymphna can see ghosts, too, and she knows that Gloriana’s hold is crumbling one henchman at a time. As loyalties shift and betrayal threatens the two girls at every turn, Dymphna is determined to rise to the top with Kelpie at her side.
From the Hardcover edition.
of Glory’s men, or the coppers snatching her. She couldn’t help but look behind her. No coppers stormed the entrance. Instead Jimmy stood amongst the flowers, shaking his head. Less than twelve hours since she’d seen him alive. Less than twelve hours since they’d been preparing to make themselves King and Queen of Razorhurst. “If anyone else shows up, you’ll ring me, won’t you?” “If they let me. Couldn’t have earlier. One stayed in the lobby and give me the devil’s eye when I reached for this
hands. But the girl’s eyes widened at the ’phone. Perhaps that was why. To impress Kelpie. Next she’d be boasting about having her own bathroom and toilet to a girl who, as far as Dymphna knew, had never lived indoors. A broken shack in the remains of Frog Hollow would impress Kelpie. Dymphna’s kitchen, with its two burners, sink, icebox, and cupboard against the wall, would seem grand as Buckingham Palace. It seemed that way to Dymphna too. Her own place! It was almost brand new, and no one
they believed for a second they could succeed? The tremor was back in her hands. “Get moving,” Jimmy said. “You stay here, you’re dead.” Dymphna knew he was right. Should she go to Inspector Ferguson, tell him Davidson had killed Jimmy? He was honest. An honest, nasty piece of work. But too many of the cops around him weren’t, too many of the courts. If she turned dingo, she was dead. If Davidson caught her, she might not be dead, but she’d want to be. If Glory caught her, she had no idea
You can’t be telling everyone about a thing like that. They’ll find ways to make use of you. They’ll find ways to turn it wrong and try to make money. Don’t be telling no one. Not ever. Kelpie didn’t. By the time Kelpie could talk, she’d met more ghosts than living people. The first ghost she remembered was so faded Kelpie couldn’t tell if it was a woman or a man or if it was old or young. The ghost could have been Irish or Italian or Chinese. There was no way of knowing. Her first ghost was
Outside: more yelling. Kelpie would have to escape soon. She didn’t want to make trouble for Mrs. Darcy. Wouldn’t be long now before she would be up making breakfast. She’d never been inside the Darcys’ home. She’d stood on the other side of the window watching Darcy bashing out his stories while Miss Lee leaned over his shoulder and read out the words. There’d been two faded ghosts in the kitchen when Miss Lee first led her to Neal Darcy. Now there was only one, so insubstantial Kelpie could