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Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollins 2017
Copyright © Josh Malerman 2017
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2017
Josh Malerman asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Source ISBN: 9780007530090
Ebook Edition © July 2017 ISBN: 9780007530083
Version: 2017-04-03
IN MAY OF 2012 the High Strung had just played the record release show for our album ¿Posible ó Imposible?, I’d just set the microphone back upon the stand, and Derek (drums) and I were stumbling out of the bar. From the bar’s shadows, an imp came, a gorgeous pair of bright green eyes and legs so long she must have been standing in the cellar. She spoke, too. “Do you have any more of that face paint?” Before the show I’d used a Sharpie on myself. Easy designs. “Yes,” I told her, reaching into the pocket of my jacket. But the imp had hands and she took hold of my face and rubbed it against her own.
Voilà. A painted face. And the beginning of something, too.
This book is for Allison Laakko, who got Black Mad Wheel piecemeal, spark by spark, as every night I relived for her the day’s excited writing. For that, there will always be a path, tracks, made by a wheel, perhaps, leading from her to me, then to the book and back to us again.
I like that.
We’ll forever know which way the wheels rolled.
I love you, Allison.
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