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:

Title: HOUSE OF ELEPHANTS (Witchlings #3)

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 ONL}Y

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.

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