The Ghosts of Rose Hill

by R. M. Romero

Genres: YA Romance; YA Historical Fantasy; YA Historical Fiction; Science Fiction

Synopsis

“A must-read for lost souls everywhere.” —Kirkus, STARRED REVIEW

With spellbinding verse prose, R.M. Romero channels the spirit of myth into a brilliantly original tale, inspired by her experiences restoring Jewish cemeteries in Eastern Europe.

Magic will burn you up.

Sent to stay with her aunt in Prague and witness the humble life of an artist, Ilana Lopez—a biracial Jewish girl—finds herself torn between her dream of becoming a violinist and her immigrant parents’ desire for her to pursue a more stable career.
 
When she discovers a forgotten Jewish cemetery behind her aunt’s cottage, she meets the ghost of a kindhearted boy named Benjamin, who died over a century ago. As Ilana restores Benjamin’s grave, he introduces her to the enchanted side of Prague, where ghosts walk the streets and their kisses have warmth.
 
But Benjamin isn't the only one interested in Ilana. Rudolph Wassermann, a man with no shadow, has become fascinated with her and the music she plays. He offers to share his magic, so Ilana can be with Benjamin and pursue her passion for violin. But after Ilana discovers the truth about Wassermann and how Benjamin became bound to the city, she resolves to save the boy she loves, even if it means losing him—forever.

 

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Release date: May 10, 2022

Publisher: Peachtree Teen

Print pages: 384

Sample

Chapter Two

My mother’s family,

Lopez,

came from Cuba.

Lopez means:

son of Lope,

son of wolf.

But it’s the Lopez women

who have always howled the loudest.

They had to be fierce

and stubborn

to survive.

My great-grandmothers

(may their memories

be a blessing)

mastered the art of escape

seven generations

before my mother.

They fled the pyres

(the flames

fueled by hatred)

devouring

the street corners,

synagogues,

cemeteries

of Spain,

crossing the ocean

with their faith

and Shabbat candlesticks

tucked under their skirts.

I wonder

if they understood

their ancestors would leave Cuba

with its sunset-colored buildings

and blue skies as soft as whispers

the same way.

When Castro

(and his communists)

rose to power,

he waved his cigar like a magic wand.

Whenever he did,

poets and gossips,

friends and neighbors

disappeared,

taken by men who prowled

through the night.

Mom understood

what happened to those who vanished,

how their bones were planted

in fields of rice

and sugarcane.

Not wanting to be among them

(and knowing one day

she might be)

Mom fled her island,

letting the water carry her

and her little fishing boat

away to a new life

with nothing

but the dress she wore to her name.

Like a queen of Narnia

who couldn’t go back

through the wardrobe,

Mom knows

she’ll never return to Cuba again.

She’ll be in exile

forever.

My parents decide

they’ll be sending me to live

with my aunt Žofie

in Prague

the golden city

of a hundred towers

and a thousand stories

for the summer.

They think

if I’m away from Miami

(and all its distractions)

I’ll study more seriously

for the college admissions exams

looming

in my future.

The bargain is this:

in the fall,

I must earn 1300

(or above)

on the SAT.

Mom and Dad

see that score as a silver key;

it will grant me access

to the best colleges,

the largest scholarships,

the brightest future.

But if my score is any lower,

there will be

no more music lessons

or weekend outings

until it improves.

At first,

my father raged

like a September storm

at the idea of banishing me

to the city

he grew up in.

He told my mother:

Žofie lives her life

on top of bones!

The communists are gone,

but what they did with

their tanks,

their lies and laws,

their secret police

can’t be erased.

I haven’t been back

in almost thirty years.

I’ll never go back again.

Mom said: You and I

didn’t survive

dictators of flesh and blood

so we could live

in fear of ghosts.

And you’re lucky—

your daughter can visit

the place you were born

and be safe.

She won the argument

by virtue of being right.

(She usually does.)

June, July, and August

lie ahead,

three months

without my friends

or my violin.

I’m being separated

from everyone,

everything,

supposedly leading me

down

the wrong path

in life.

I tell myself:

my friendships will survive

a single summer away.

Sarah, Martina, and I

can still talk

every day.

But how will I live

without

my music?