The wait for The Vanishing Stair, Maureen Johnson’s highly-anticipated sequel to Truly Devious, is almost over. But until then, we’ve got an exclusive look at the book’s second chapter!
The last time we saw Stevie Bell at the end of Truly Devious, her parents pulled her out of Ellingham Academy and she was forced to return home without having solved either murders she set out to. Worse than that, she had just found out a huge secret about David, the boy she had been crushing on during her short time away at school. A secret that ended up crushing her.
The Vanishing Stair picks up almost exactly where Truly Devious left off. Resigned to the fact that she’ll never see her wonderful friends or the beautiful Ellingham Academy grounds again, Stevie starts to disconnect from the world. That is, until an unwanted visitor shows up on her parents’ doorstep asking to speak with her…
Fans of Maureen Johnson’s Truly Devious series wont want to miss this exclusive excerpt from The Vanishing Stair!
Chapter Two
Sometimes the devil comes to people in stories—the unexpected visitor with the pleasing voice. The devil is not supposed to show up in life. The devil is not supposed to be in living rooms in Pittsburgh in the autumn twilight, sitting on the green sofa from Martin’s Big Discount Furniture, in a room magnetically pointed at the television. And yet, there he was.
Edward King was in his fifties, but still looked a bit younger. His hair was dark with a waving curl, forced flat. He wore an impeccable gray suit, one of those suits that stand out because they do not shine or bag. His unlined face was a mask of affability, his smile a gentle, who me? twist. He sat back deep into the sofa, his legs widely crossed, as if this was where he spent every evening. Stevie’s parents sat in the matching recliners on either side of the sofa, looking attentive and wide-eyed, and frankly, confused.
“Hello, Stevie,” he said.
Stevie was stranded in the doorway, feeling a cold paralysis come over her limbs.
Edward King was the worst man in America.
Well, that point could be argued. But Edward King was a powerful man. He was a Pennsylvania senator, based here, out of Pittsburgh. This was the man who wanted to keep “outsiders” and “bad elements” out of America, which largely meant people who weren’t white, weren’t rich. For Edward King, wealth was goodness. There was no climate change in his world—the earth was there to produce more life-affirming dollars. This was a man who wanted to be president.
“Stevie,” her father said, a slight warning tone in his voice. She knew what that tone meant. We know how you feel about this, but this man is a senator and our personal hero, and if you think you are about to storm out or go into some political tirade, you are much mistaken.
Stevie felt that old tyrant in her chest, the unsteady heartbeat that signaled the start of an anxiety attack. She grabbed the doorframe like it was a life preserver. Her parents didn’t know that this was not the first time Stevie had come this close to Edward King.
“It’s okay,” he said. He was too clever to smile broadly; it was just a gentle hint of a smile. “I know that Stevie may not be my biggest fan. We can have different opinions. That’s what makes America great. Honoring our differences.”
Oh no. No, no, no. He’d lobbed the ball at her. He wanted to play.
Oh, she would play.
If she could breathe. Breathe, Stevie. Breathe. One intake of air and she could get the whole apparatus moving. But it was a no-go from her diaphragm.
“Stevie,” her father said again, though the tone was less stern. “Come sit down.”
The floor was coming up to meet Stevie a bit. Hello, said the floor. Come see me. Plant your face in my bosom and be still.
“That’s all right,” Edward King said. “Stevie, you do whatever makes you comfortable. I’m just here to talk to you all, see how you’re doing after the events at Ellingham.”
Another move in this chess game. Now that he was saying she could stand, maybe the move was to sit. Or she might be giving in to what he wanted. Too much input. The golden twilight was dimming fast and the shadows were falling across the carpet. Or was that just her vision? The floor really was inviting. . . .
STEVIE! she screamed to herself. YOU. MUST. RE-INHABIT. YOUR. BODY.
“I want to congratulate you on the remarkable work you did at Ellingham,” Edward King went on. “Your investigative powers are really exceptional.”
Her parents looked at her as if they were expecting her to dance or maybe pull out some puppets. Still, her body and voice refused to participate.
Okay, she said to herself. Points for not being on the floor. But you’ve got to move. You can move. You can speak. DO SOMETHING.
“We’re sorry,” her mother said.
“Don’t be.” Edward King spread out his hands in a generous gesture, as if this was his house. “Actually, Stevie, and you may not like to hear this, you remind me of a young me a bit. I stood by my principles. Even if others around me didn’t always like it. You’ve got backbone. So what I’ve come to ask, come to talk about, is this . . . and I ask you all to hear me out. I’ve come to ask that Stevie return to Ellingham.”
The floor could have completely fallen away and revealed a cloud city below.
“I’m . . . sorry?” Her mother was now off her footing.
“I know, I know,” Edward King said apologetically. “I’m a parent of a student there as well. Please. Let me make my case. I have something to show you.”
He reached into a sleek leather case leaning against his leg and pulled out several glossy folders.
“Have a look at these,” he said, passing one to each of her parents. He held one toward Stevie as well, but immediately set it on his lap when it was clear that she would not make a move for it.
“Security?” her father said, examining the folder.
“The best firm in the country. Better than the secret service, because it’s private. It’s the firm I use. And it’s the firm I’ve hired to wire Ellingham. I always thought there should be a better security system there, and after recent events, I managed to convince the board to allow me to install a network.”
Her parents were looking through the folders, dumbfounded.
“I did this,” he continued, “because Ellingham Academy is a very special place. They cultivate individual talent. What they’ve done for people like Stevie and my son . . . I truly believe in the mission. Albert Ellingham was a great man, a true American innovator. And new American innovators are being made at Ellingham right now. I’m asking you, please. I think Stevie should return. The campus is safer now.”
“But that girl,” her mother said. “Everything that’s happened . . .”
“Element,” Edward King said, shaking his head. “Do you want to know what I think?”
Her parents always did, and for the first time, so did Stevie.
“I believe what happened was an accident. I think those two students were out of their depth and Hayes died. I think your daughter worked it out. And I think the girl panicked and ran. She’ll be found.”
“The school should have been more careful,” Stevie’s father said.
“Now here’s where I disagree with you,” Edward King said, in his congenial debate voice. He leaned back into the sofa. “I don’t blame the school. I’m a big believer in personal responsibility. The school locked up those materials. You know, those students are old enough to know better than to break into a locked storage area, to steal chemicals. Personal responsibility.”
This was one of Edward King’s big talking points: A RETURN TO RESPONSIBILITY. It meant nothing as far as he was concerned, but people liked the slogan. She saw her parents lulled by the familiar word.
“My own son—he’s going to be eighteen in December, on the seventh. I can hardly believe that myself. But that’s an adult. This wasn’t the school being careless. If it had been him—and God forbid, of course—God forbid my son or Stevie, but . . . if it had been him? I’d say the same.”
The words came out of him like poisoned honey—so sweet, so perfect, and all wrong. Everything was wrong and scrambled. Reality needed to be rebooted.
He let the matter settle on the room, and Stevie saw it working. She saw the possibility opening in front of her.
“I’ve come to offer Stevie a ride,” Edward King went on after a moment. “That’s how strongly I feel about this. I have my SUV outside that can handle lots of bags, and I have a plane at the airport. A private flight. It doesn’t get better than that.”
What do you do when the devil turns up in your living room and offers you everything you want?
“Why?” Stevie said, her voice dry. It was the first word she’d said.
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Edward King replied.
That was the first direct lie he’d probably told in this room, and the most telling. It was also a lie that rang clear and bright with her parents, who believed, who really believed that Edward King was the standard-bearer for some kind of glorious, real American truth that you could buy and hold in your hands and own. Edward King had come here to do the Right Thing and was going to make it all happen in his God-given jet.
“And it’s of course a thank-you to two people who do so much work for me,” he said, indicating her parents. “You run an office for me here. I owe you. So . . .”
He turned to Stevie.
“What do you say?” he asked.
