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    Seven Wonders Journals: The Key
    Seven Wonders Journals: The Key
    Seven Wonders Journals: The Key
    Ebook81 pages1 hour

    Seven Wonders Journals: The Key

    By Peter Lerangis

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    About this ebook

    Discover the history behind the mystery of the New York Times bestselling Seven Wonders series in this original novella.

    Follow the tale of Aliyah and Osman, twin treasure hunters pressed into a life of crime. For them, every day is another desperate death-defying adventure until they stumble upon the key that may lead to the greatest treasure ever. But to take home this magical orb, they must first battle their way out of the Tomb of Shadows.

    With crucial historical details and plenty of backstory surprises, this is a perfect addition to the library of new and continuing fans of Seven Wonders, the epic adventure series by Peter Lerangis, author of three stories in the 39 Clues series.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHarperCollins
    Release dateFeb 10, 2015
    ISBN9780062238948
    Author

    Peter Lerangis

    Peter Lerangis is the author of many books for young readers, including wtf, Smiler’s Bones, the Watchers series, The Sword Thief, and the New York Times bestselling 39 Clues series. Peter lives with his wife and two sons in New York City. Visit him at PeterLerangis.com.

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      Book preview

      Seven Wonders Journals - Peter Lerangis

      CONTENTS

      Private Journal: Aliyah Bartevyan

      Excerpt from Seven Wonders: The Curse of the King

      Back Ads

      About the Author

      Credits

      Copyright

      About the Publisher

      PRIVATE JOURNAL

      ALIYAH BARTEVYAN

      (Osman, if you are even breathing within three feet of this, I will personally bash your head and rip up every Beatles poster you own!!!!!)

      Tuesday, 11:00 P.M.

      DIARY, I’M HAVING a bad night. My head is full of the Most-Girls thoughts. As in, Most Girls my age don’t live in a dirt hole like mine. Most Girls don’t live in shacks with stolen electricity via a rat-eaten wire from a neighbor. Most Girls go to school, buy nice clothes, read good books, help their mother with housework, take care of a pet.

      I, Diary, as you know, am not Most Girls.

      My school is the Khalid Bartevyan School of Crazy. I have no regular bedtime. My clothes and books come from other people’s trash. The clothes I hate, the books I like. Right now I am reading American History from 1776 to Now, but every page is missing after about 1910. With Mother gone, housework is optional, and the last pet I had was MoopaSoopa, that fat, snuggly rat who followed Father home from an exploration and met an untimely death by chewing through a live electrical wire.

      Well, I have a pet now. Sort of. Her name is Safi, she’s a ferret my father borrowed for his latest scheme, and she’s about as snuggly as a drawer full of needles. But she has . . . Magical Properties! She will sniff out Treasures Untold from Hidden Places! She is a Millionaire Maker!

      Do you believe that, Diary? I don’t. But Father does, of course. Safi is the latest scheme that is going to make us Rich, Rich, Rich!

      Ughhh . . .

      Do you know how Father described himself today? As a Chief Officer of Bartevyan Antiquities Incorporated, Salvage Specialists. Can you believe that? Bartevyan Antiquities? Some officer—he’s more of a Chief Babysitter to those four or five slovenly, useless men he works with. They come to our house, and when they leave, Father’s bottles are mostly empty.

      Ah well, I don’t suppose he can say Chief Tomb Robber of a Group of Jobless Drunks. It doesn’t have the same ring.

      But back to Safi. I do not like her. Or her owner, a wealthy one-eyed man named Feyyaz the Cyclops—who, by the way, is not snuggly either. They say his missing eye was taken in a rare playful moment by Safi. What Feyyaz lacks in looks, he makes up for in money—and nastiness. No one ever calls him Cyclops to his face, of course. It is said he once chopped off a man’s fingers for shaking his hand without bowing first.

      Father will not tell us how Feyyaz got his wealth. Or how he got his charming personality or unique odor. Or why on earth he lent Safi to us.

      Does Feyyaz really believe we will find a hidden ancient treasure? I worry he expects us to fail—and then he’ll blackmail us with something or other. Given Father’s track record, what else could he be thinking????

      I know, Diary, if you were not a book, you would slap me—for being so disrespectful. And I would deserve it. But I can’t help but think there is something foul afoot.

      I can’t really complain to Osman. Whenever I try, he looks at me as if I’ve grown donkey ears. He thinks our life is perfect. Sometimes I can’t believe he and I are twins. He seems so much younger than me. In fact, he believes in this Safi nonsense! Argghhh! (Well, he also believes that the TV sitcom I Dream of Jeannie is a documentary and that Father is a serious archaeologist.)

      Both of the men in my life confuse reality and fantasy.

      I’m Mother’s daughter, Diary—strong, practical, loyal, smart, modest, AND IF ANYONE EVER STEALS THIS DIARY AND REPEATS THAT CONCEITED-SOUNDING STATEMENT, I WILL PERSONALLY VANQUISH YOU, AND THAT ESPECIALLY INCLUDES MY SNEAK OF A BROTHER KNOWN AS OSMAN!

      Sorry, had to include that disclaimer.

      Mother always said Father’s stories would get us in trouble. Just find a job, Khalid, she would tell him. Ordinary people don’t chase after treasure. Ordinary people have jobs.

      Who wants to be ordinary? was his response.

      He had a point. But so did she. I miss Mother sooooo much, Diary.

      Last night I dreamed about her. Again. Which is what I wanted to write about. Because I am still shaking and I do not think I shall ever sleep again.

      Wednesday, 12:09 A.M.

      SORRY. HAD TO put you away. Father fell off the bed and I had to wake him up, which took a while.

      Where was I?

      Oh, yes, the dream.

      Okay, all I saw was Mother’s back. She was walking along the shore, wearing a long, brocaded gown. I shouted to her but she didn’t turn around. No! Her pace picked up . . . and she was headed directly into the sea. Of course I followed, screaming at the top of my lungs, trying to pull her away, but she wouldn’t even turn to face me. Next thing I knew, we were both underwater.

      Diary, I was breathing—and nothing scared me! Not even the eels and jellyfish (who you know I hate with a passion)! They were tickling me like the softest feathers as I walked

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