Her job is to keep their secrets safe.
A secluded Retreat Center full of preternatural clientele. A talking crow who thinks she knows everything. A new boy in town asking a lot of nosy questions. Sound like a lot to handle? Not for fifteen-year-old Macy Steward, who lives at the Center and helps her parents run the highly unusual retreats.
For Macy, this is simply normal routine. And it’s all going exactly as expected, that is until the guests become dangerously unpredictable, the talking crow goes suspiciously missing, and the new boy turns out to be so much more than he first appeared.
“Here comes trouble.” That’s the last thing the crow says before disappearing.
Even though she doesn’t scare easily, Macy has to admit the crow was right. Because soon enough, she finds herself trying to keep a lot more things safe than just secrets...
Her job is to keep their secrets safe.
A secluded Retreat Center full of preternatural clientele. A talking crow who thinks she knows everything. A new boy in town asking a lot of nosy questions. Sound like a lot to handle? Not for fifteen-year-old Macy Steward, who lives at the Center and helps her parents run the highly unusual retreats.
For Macy, this is simply normal routine. And it’s all going exactly as expected, that is until the guests become dangerously unpredictable, the talking crow goes suspiciously missing, and the new boy turns out to be so much more than he first appeared.
“Here comes trouble.” That’s the last thing the crow says before disappearing.
Even though she doesn’t scare easily, Macy has to admit the crow was right. Because soon enough, she finds herself trying to keep a lot more things safe than just secrets...
The bus was late. It was never late, except it was today, the one day I really needed to get home on time. Without delay. Now would be good. Fifteen minutes ago would’ve been better. Not having come to school today to avoid this very situation— yeah, that would’ve been best. I slipped away from the bus stop to head down the sidewalk where I’d have a better view of both the road and the distant mist-covered mountains.
Home.
“Macy, over here!”
I waved to a bunch of my fellow high schoolers hanging out under the big redwood tree in front of Las Aves High. It was Thursday after school, and everybody (except me) was in a great mood, enjoying the sun and making bets on who’d win Homecoming tonight.
“Hey, Macy, you’re coming to the game, right?” Joey the linebacker called as he attempted to climb the massive red-furred tree trunk.
“Can’t. I’m working at the Center,” I called back. “We’ve got a retreat group arriving this afternoon.” The Greenmont Grith Retreat Center was twenty miles out in the middle of nowhere, making it the perfect location to hold a private, peaceful retreat. Not so convenient for other things though, such as maintaining normal friendships.
Case in point, “No way,” Joey said now, his disapproval obvious all the way across the school’s front lawn.
“That stinks, Macy,” added Dawn, rapping her drumsticks against the tree in emphasis. Or maybe she was practicing for halftime’s marching band performance. Probably practicing, because in the tiny remote town of Las Aves, football was a really big deal. Everybody was going to be at the game tonight. Well, everybody except me.
“Oh, c’mon,” said Tara, already dressed in her cheerleader uniform. “Tell your parents to run the retreat by themselves for once.”
“Yeah, you can’t miss out on Homecoming,” said Dawn, adding another few raps of the drumsticks. “That’s just not fair, you know.”
“I know,” I said, throwing in a regretful headshake. “But it’s the way it is. I have to work . . .” A closer glance over at the group and I decided to save my breath. They’d lost interest, engrossed again in carpool plans, deciding who was going to wear the bottom half of the mascot costume and all that sort of stuff I didn’t usually take part in.
Not that I didn’t like football. I did, actually. It just wasn’t nearly as important as getting home. Nothing was as important as that. I paced farther down the sidewalk and pulled out my phone to send a text to my parents.
Bus is late.
They wouldn’t be worried, but still, good idea to let them know I wouldn’t be home in time to greet the retreat group as they were arriving. Which would be right about now. Argh.
I slipped my phone back in my pocket and scanned the road, bouncing on my heels as I spotted . . . nothing. Nada. No bus. I bounced higher, faster— “Work, huh?” said someone close by, causing me to off-bounce and land awkwardly. “Actually, I know how that feels,” the guy went on, politely ignoring my surprised squeak and wobble. “Hey, too bad though. You missing out on the game, I mean.”
This was the new boy in town, talking to me like we were best buds. It took a second before I could remember his name. Nick, that was it. New-Boy Nick.
“I heard everybody goes to the game,” New Nick was saying as he walked his bike forward another step, causing my brain to go into momentary envy freeze as I caught full view of the thing. It was one of those newfangled full- suspension electric mountain bikes, heavy and shiny and taking up most of the sidewalk. “People say it can get pretty exciting,” Nick added encouragingly.
“What? Oh, it’s okay,” I said, tearing my eyes from the bike and hopping off the curb to make room for him to pass, “if you’re into watching an enormous blue jay compete with an even bigger raccoon for best mascot cheer.”
“Enormous blue jay versus ginormous raccoon . . .” Nick pretended to consider, adjusting his shoulders under a slick leather jacket before shooting me one of those all-the-rage new-boy smiles. “Sounds entertaining enough. We haven’t met before, have we?” he asked, casually brushing back his wavy black hair.
“Nope,” I said, wondering at this heavy offload of charm. A senior, cute, and obviously athletic, New Nick was easily taking first prize in the ever- prevalent high school popularity contest. Me? Not so much, though that was more of a deliberate move on my part. In fact, I’d worked diligently to cultivate a quietly offbeat, shapeless sophomore status, buried deep in my oversized hoodie and track pants—friendly enough and tolerated by the various cliques scattered throughout campus but not fitting in anywhere in particular. Fitting in required commitment and I was already fully committed elsewhere. Thinking of . . . My gaze lifted to the distant mist-covered ridge.
“Not officially, at least,” Nick amended, following my shift in focus. “But I know your name is Macy. And you live up there”—he pointed, correctly, at the biggest mountain, Greenmont Grith—“where the exchanger retreats take place, right?”
Alarm bells clanged, loud and sudden. Because while Las Aves was a teeny, tiny town where everybody was always in everybody else’s business and it wasn’t surprising that Nick knew both my name and where I lived, it was all sorts of suspicious to hear him say exchanger—not a term to be used lightly. I was now obliged to find out if he actually knew what it meant. Most people didn’t. The ones who did, well, they tended to be the sort who could cause a lot of trouble for me and my parents. And our Center.
“That’s right.” I hopped up from the curbside, shooting Nick a breezy grin. “You thinking about going on a retreat, Nick?”
Nick awarded my knowledge of his name with another wide smile. “It’s something to consider,” he said. “Your parents run the place?”
Obviously he knew the answer. But I’d play along. Easier to find out what he was up to that way, right?
“Uh-huh,” I said.
“So that means it’s all their fault.”
“Sorry?”
“Your parents. They’re the reason you’re missing out on the big game.”
We were back to that? I shrugged. “It’s the family business. I’m used to it.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard.” He chuckled and leaned forward like we were besties about to gossip over the latest scandal. “You know, Macy, I’ve been meaning to bump into you for a while now.”
And now the bells were ringing in pure pandemonium.
“Because you wanted to ask me about the exchangers?” I prompted.
He shrugged. “Sort of. But I also was wondering . . .” He broke off, having glanced past my shoulder and spotted something. “Your bus is here,” he said, sounding frustrated.
“What were you going to say, Nick?” I said abruptly, reaching out and grabbing the lapel of his leather jacket. “Talk fast. Who are you and what do you want with Gigi’s exchangers?”
This hadn’t come out nicely, not at all, but I could hear the bus revving impatiently at the stop. Unfortunately—also unexpectedly and most annoyingly—I needed Nick’s answers to my questions just as much as I needed to get home.
Nick’s easy smile had disappeared, replaced with a look of confusion. “Uh, who’s Gigi?” he asked while his fingers fumbled to straighten his jacket.
I hit my forehead with my hand. “Never mind,” I said, swiveling on my heel. “I’ve got to go.”
“Hey, I didn’t mean to offend you, Macy.”
The bus driver honked the horn.
“Let’s talk about it later,” I told Nick, heading to the stop.
“Wait,” said Nick, “I wanted to ask—”
“Later,” I said, upping my hustle.
But Nick matched my pace, rolling his bike alongside. “Hang on, Macy,” he said. “This is about—”
“Look.” I halted, hand up and one eye on Mr. Rubino, who was hunched over the steering wheel and glaring at us through the windshield. “Too many ears,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Now’s not the moment.” I gestured meaningfully at the waiting passengers. Las Aves being such a small town, Mr. Rubino’s bus was all that was needed to cover both the general public’s needs and the school routes.
“But—”
“Catch me later, all right?” I said, hopping up the bus’s steps.
“Do you mean . . . ?” Nick called.
“Yes.” I waved him away. “Later!”
The doors closed with a whoosh. I took a deep breath and greeted the bus driver with forced cheer. “Everything okay, Mr. Rubino?”
“Stay away from that one,” was his raspy reply.
“What?” I said, startled. The bus driver usually kept his opinions to himself, responding to my daily greetings with no more than an unenthusiastic grunt.
“Lost it,” was Mr. Rubino’s next comment. For clarity, he pointed at his speckled bald head, normally topped by a black felt army beret.
“I see,” I said automatically, although it took me another second before realizing, “You mean, that’s why the bus is late, you were looking for your hat?”
He grunted sourly and slammed the gears into place, causing the bus to lurch onto the road with more violence than normal but paying no attention to the passengers’ resulting noises of protest. I made my way through the unsettled bodies and found an empty seat, trying to let my annoyance slip away as easily as we began to speed down the road.
The beret was obviously important, I told myself. And everybody had the right to be particular about something. I only wished Mr. Rubino’s particularness hadn’t messed up my schedule so much.
I slumped into the seat, closed my eyes, then opened them and peered out the window to catch one last glimpse of Nick, still standing at the stop. He waved when he saw me looking. I waved back. Wait, why had I done that?
The bus turned the corner and now Nick was out of sight. I lowered my hand, resettled, and tried to focus on what was ahead.
The retreat. First, meeting the guests, a.k.a. the exchangers, although that was a term only used by those of us in the know. Did that mean Nick was “in the know”? I’d never met a townie who was, but then, Nick wasn’t really a townie, was he? No, too new. So maybe he was from another Center, a Center like my parents’, specializing in exchanger retreats. That was an idea. I’d never met someone from another Center, although I knew there were at least one hundred of them scattered across the world. Not all of them Retreat Centers, specifically, but all of them set up specifically for the exchangers’ use.
The view out the window changed from town to forest as I thought more about the exchangers. First impressions were important. I needed to be calm and collected when we met. Not distracted like I’d been with Nick. His long-lashed hazel eyes flashed in my mind. What exactly had he wanted to ask me? Could he actually have been interested in . . . ? It sort of seemed like, now that I had a chance to think about it, wait, did that mean . . . ? No, focus, Macy. It didn’t matter what Nick wanted to ask. Not right now, not with a new retreat group getting ready for the Opening Ceremony.
I rolled my shoulders a few times, backward and forward, trying to release the built-up tension, trying not to think about Nick, also trying not to think about what life would be like if I didn’t have to constantly keep track of Gigi’s secrets. Then I sighed, having failed in all three things.
“Greenmont Grith, end of the line,” shouted Mr. Rubino. “Everybody off!”
It was a bit of overkill. I was the only person left on the bus, since I was the only person who lived this far out of town.
“Thanks, Mr. Rubino. See you in the morning,” I called, leaping out the back door.
His response was to close the doors on my heels, but he waited for me to run across the road before turning the bus around to head back to town.
I was sprinting up the forest’s woodblock staircase before he’d completed the U-turn. Gigi’s forest embraced me in the clean scent of pine, a cool sea mist sweeping over my cheeks and the trees’ gentle shadow relaxing the strain around my eyes.
Home.
Each fall of my foot was welcomed eagerly. It always felt like this, returning to where I belonged, like I was recognized as a part of the forest’s wholeness.
Usually I relished the feeling, taking the time to appreciate the redwoods’ dense, furry bark, the swaying branches, the hushed green cathedral formed by the towering treetops.
Today, however, I took the steps as fast as I could—not an easy task because they were huge and snaggy and irregularly spaced. Going up and down on a daily basis was the main reason I could boast a better-than-average level of physical fitness.
“Trouble!” Clio squawked from above, hopping from branch to branch as I vaulted from block to block.
“Not now, Clio,” I said in between huffs and puffs.
“Here comes trouble!” she screamed over me.
“Hey, how about you tell me something I don’t know?”
Clio was a crow, a glossy black, tyrannical talking crow. She’d shown up out of the blue a long time ago, settled in and claimed the trees as her own private property, snapping at me and my two older brothers—mostly at me—while spitting out a word or phrase here and there. Nine times out of ten her vocalizations were garbled nonsense, although she did say “trouble” more often than not.
Mom thought Clio was someone’s beloved lost pet. I wasn’t so sure about the beloved part, not when Clio’s second-most-often expressed utterance was, “Pain in the arse!” That was the first thing she’d said, in fact, scaring me half to death as I’d climbed the forest steps coming home from my first day of Kindergarten. An unforgettable experience. Meeting Clio, I meant, not the first day of Kindergarten. The rest of my family—this was before Jones and Alphonso went off to college—decided Clio was hilarious, unreservedly welcoming her in as our unofficial “guard crow”. I admitted she was useful, but that was as far as I could go, maybe because of the snarky attitude she seemed to reserve especially for me.
“Here comes trouble!” Clio the guard crow squawked again, ruffling her feathers into a fluffy black cloud as she bounced on a branch overhead, showering me in pine needles in the process.
“Okay, okay.” I increased my pace, legs burning in protest.
At the top step, I burst from the forest, gasping for air and holding the stitch in my side. Other than my labored breathing, however, all was quiet, with Clio choosing to remain hidden and mute in the depths of the forest. I began a hurried limp across the long patch of clover lawn, heading toward the enormous building—Home!—on the far side of the cobblestoned circular drive.
Gigi, up close and personal, was nothing less than a phenomenon of Mother Nature. Her enormous craggy boulders appeared to have been pulled together by gravity, held in place by a majestic guard of ancient redwood logs and masked within a thick epidermis of ivy and moss, the verdant green interrupted here and there by slatted window shutters peeking out like discerning eyes, eyes that seemed to welcome me as I slid around the sleek black limo parked in the drive.
I placed a hand on the hood as I passed. Cold. The exchangers had arrived some time ago and I knew I was as late as I’d hoped I wouldn’t be.
With a new spurt of energy, I dashed up Gigi’s front steps, pulling open the front door just as Clio called out one last time, “Trouble!”
Initially, Macy seems like a typical teenager, who is a bit of a loner. However, after Macy misses her bus ride due to an afternoon detection, the new boy Nick offers to give her a ride home on the back of his bike. Nick asks a lot of questions and seems to know too much about the Retreat Center where Macy lives. Once at home, Macy has responsibilities to help her parents as hosts of the Center. Within short order, we meet the guests who have come for a 3-day Exchange Retreat and the “Guide” who will direct the activities. When the “exchange” ceremony takes place, we are introduced to the unique premise of the novel. The bodies of the guests become hosts to “offworlders” (aliens from other worlds), while the essence or souls of the hosts are put in another place for safe keeping. Complications develop when various visitors, some mostly human and some alien, arrive unexpectedly. Macy learns that the local crow isn’t just an ordinary crow and several people refer to her as “The Safekeeper” which is news to her! Furthermore, the newly arrived “offworlders” have some deadly motives.
I appreciated the unique twists of this book and the melding of the lives of humans and alien beings while on earth. There is not a lot of unusual technology to get in the way of the storytelling. The novel focuses on the personalities and the actions of the characters. The plot moves along nicely; action and intrigue are served up at just the right times. The story has a satisfying conclusion. However, there seems to be more opportunity to develop the characters and the premise in future books.
My primary criticism of the book is that terminology is used with very little explanation and some of it never becomes completely clear. For example, the terms “exchanger” and “compounder” are almost used interchangeably, but there seems to be a distinction that wasn’t made clear by the author. Another minor criticism was that I had to return back to Chapter 2 of the book to reacquaint myself with a character who is briefly mentioned then reappears in Chapter 10.
The book was written for young adults and I think it would be terrifically entertaining for them. Macy is a likeable character who has spunk. Nick has an interesting mix of boyish charm with some subtle maturity. The undertone of attraction between Macy and Nick is lovely without being annoying. I wouldn’t hesitate to recommend this book to a young person who has a creative imagination and enjoys reading fantasy novels.