September 27th, 2026
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📚 New Books This Week 📰 Latest News 🎪 Reader Games

Snowbound secrets, shifter wars, family lies, and epic battles β€” September delivers it all.

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Some promises cost you the one you love.

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The Temple of Kronos wants her dead. The Stoneslayer wants her destroyed. Neither will have her.

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A poisoned cousin, a five-year-old's life, and a family with too many secrets.

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Betrayal runs in her blood. Justice runs in his. Together, they burn it all down.

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"ANOTHER WINNER!"
From New York Times
Bestselling Cleo Coyle

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Running from her past, she finds a killer, a protector, and her faith.

Messenger by Lois Lowry

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Also by Lois Lowry:

The Giver, July 2014
Paperback / e-Book (reprint)
Son, October 2012
Hardcover / e-Book
The Willoughbys, April 2008
Hardcover
Gossamer, May 2006
Hardcover
Messenger, April 2004
Trade Size (reprint)
Gathering Blue, September 2002
Paperback

MESSENGER
By: Lois Lowry

Critically acclaimed and bestselling author Lois Lowry returns with MESSENGER; the eagerly anticipated companion to Gathering Blue and The Giver, winner of the Newbery Medal.

The Trilogy #3
Houghton Mifflin
April 2004
176 pages
ISBN: 0618404414
Trade Size (reprint)
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Fantasy | Young Adult

He noticed Kira reaching for her pack and spoke sharply to her. β€œWhat are you doing? We have to move on a minute. It’s dangerous here.” She hadn’t seen the deadly thing that had grabbed at Matty, but he knew there would be more; he watched the bushes for them.

It had come for him first, he realized. He did not want to be the first to die, to leave her alone.

To his dismay, she was removing her embroidery tools. β€œKira! There’s no time!”

β€œI might be able to . . . ” Deftly she threaded a needle.

To what? He wondered bitterly. To create a handsome wall-hanging depicting our last hours? He remembered that in the art books he had leafed through at Leader’s, many paintings depicted death. A severed head on a platter. A battle, and the ground strewn with bodies. Swords and spears and fire; and nails being pounded into the tender flesh of a man’s hands. Painters had preserved such pain through beauty.

Perhaps she would.

He watched her hands. They flew over the small frame, moving in and out with the needle. Her eyes were closed. She was not directing her own fingers. They simply moved.

He waited, his eyes vigilant, watching the surrounding bushes for the next attack. He feared the coming dark. He wanted to move on, out of this place, before evening came. But he waited while her hands moved.

Finally she looked up. β€œSomeone is coming to help us,” she said. β€œIt’s the young man with the blue eyes.”

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