Alex Wise vs. the Cosmic Shift

Alex Wise vs. the Cosmic Shift

No one ever said saving the world would be easy. In the second installment of this thrilling fantasy series all about finding your inner hero, a 12-year-old boy leads the charge against the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Alex Wise is no superhero. Or at least, he doesn't feel like one. Sure, he vanquished Death and saved his sister Mags—with the help of some new magic powers, his best friend Loren and demi-god Liam. But the apocalypse shows no signs of slowing down. Now, Alex and his friends will have to find new allies and face new dangers—from battling a giant snake in a literal ghost town and infiltrating the Horsemen’s new home base on the Vegas Strip…on the back of a dragon. With everyone looking to him for answers, Alex isn't sure he's cut out for this world saving thing. And the closer he gets to Liam, the farther away he feels from Loren and from Mags, who hasn't been the same since she was possessed by Death. How can Alex lead a team if he doesn't even feel like he deserves to be a part of it? “Never has the apocalypse been so fun!" —Mark Oshiro, author of THE INSIDERS and co-author with Rick Riordan of THE SUN AND THE STAR: A NICO DI ANGELO ADVENTURE. "Another captivating caper." — Kirkus Reviews TERRY J. BENTON-WALKER is the bestselling and award-winning author of the young adult contemporary fantasy series Blood Debts, the middle grade contemporary fantasy series Alex Wise vs the End of the World, and Terry also edited and contributed to The White Guy Dies First , a young adult horror anthology. He lives in Atlanta, GA, where he can usually be found gaming, eating ice cream, or both—when he’s not writing. 1 Hide-­and-­Seeker I’m nobody’s superhero. At least . . . I don’t feel like one. Yeah, I might’ve vanquished Death, the leader of the Horsemen, and saved my little sister from his possession at the same time, but our parents couldn’t care less about my alleged “heroics.” Ever since we returned to our safe house in the Hollywood Hills two weeks ago with our parents in tow, they won’t let any of us out of their sights—­which makes this whole “superhero” business waaay more complicated than it should be. And speaking of complicated . . . I take a deep breath and knock on the closed bedroom door. The heavy sigh on the other side before the call for me to enter stings, but I push past that familiar pain. I hate that I’ve gotten so good at that, despite kinda having no choice. I step inside the room, leaving the door open behind me. My sister sits on the edge of the bed, quietly tying a scarf around her cloud-­white cornrows. Mags could never tie her headscarves quite right before, so Mom would always have to help her out. This is the first time I’ve seen her do it on her own—­and as good as Mom; better, even. On the corner of the chest of drawers beside the door is an untouched stack of books I’d borrowed from Mr. Freddie, the kind old Black man who owns the small grocery store on Sunset Boulevard. I met him a few weeks ago when Loren and I saved him from being tortured by the Horsemen’s human minions, better known as Riders. I pick up a copy of The Sun and the Star and flip through the pages before skimming the text on the back, but my mind’s too rattled to take in anything I’m reading. “I thought you’d be all over this,” I tell her, turning the cover toward her. “Don’t you like Percy Jackson?” Mags shrugs and stares down at her feet, which still don’t touch the floor from where she sits. She grabs her purple-­framed glasses from on the bed beside her and puts them on. They’re not even her prescription. They’re just a pair of old reading glasses she found on a carousel in Mr. Freddie’s store. She popped the lenses out and wears the empty frames every day now. The whole nasty ordeal with Death left her with healing abilities, which apparently restored her vision, too. But when I tried to talk to her about why she’s wearing the lens-­less glasses, I must’ve asked too many questions because she gave that same heavy sigh that I know too well and walked off on me. I’ve been too afraid of upsetting her to ask anything else about it. Death’s possession changed Mags. No longer is she the chatterbox whose primary objective every day was to annoy me as much as possible. And her brown eyes, which once shone with unbridled life, are now dulled by sadness. I’m terrified they’ll never shine the same way again. She’s my little sister in so many ways, and yet, in too many others, she’s not anymore. I set the novel back on top of the stack. “What’s going on with you, Mags?” I ask, staring at the books to avoid making eye contact with her, afraid of what I’ll see in her eyes now. “You used to love reading. I picked all these out just for you . . . because I thought they might help you feel better . . . maybe even help you get back to your old self.” She grimaces at the floor. “I haven’t felt like reading, and you constantly harassing me about it is really starting to make