title: The Burning Air: A Novel
author:  Erin Kelly 
description: &#8220;Erin Kelly is a seriously good writer, and this gripping novel is her best yet. I really loved it&#8212;couldn't put it down!&#8221;<br>&#8212;<b>Sophie Hannah</b><br><br>&#8220;<i>The Burning Air</i> is a clever, creepy exploration of the deceit hidden even within the most apparently loving of families and the very fine line between justice and revenge. Erin Kelly is brilliant at showing the relentlessness of obsession and the evil that can be done in the name of love.&#8221;<br>&#8212;<b>Elizabeth Haynes</b>, author of <i>Into the Darkest Corner</i><br><br>&#8220;In a strong field, Kelly is among the strongest. Her formidable control of plot twist and character keep you gripped, unsure of the outcome, until the bitter end.&#8221;<br>&#8212;<b>Alex Marwood</b>, author of <i>The Wicked Girls</i><br><br>&#8220;A classic dark thriller combining suspense with gorgeous, evocative prose. . . . With writing so seductive and multiple voices that are pitch-perfect for the characters she&#8217;s created, Kelly shows that she is a writer who doesn&#8217;t need to keep repeating herself to stay in the game. A book that will consume the reader as fully as the bonfire set by the novel&#8217;s characters.&#8221;<br>&#8212;<i><b>Kirkus</b></i><br><br>&#8220;Tension-filled . . . skillfully drawn characters and masterful building of suspense, which reaches a literally searing climax."<br>&#8212;<i><b>Publishers Weekly</b></i>
zlib_text: Screaming echoed around Emily …
  . . . horrifying and deep, screaming like she never heard before. She
  coughed the water out of her lungs and breathed, and then she turned
  around, reaching for the dock as she did.
  The air was filled with black smoke and an awful rancid burning smell.
  She could recognize part of the smell—hair burning—but the rest was
  something she had never encountered before.
  The inky blackness poured off the dock and across the lake, engulfing
  her. She grabbed the ancient wood, then saw through the slats what was
  burning.
  It was Daddy.
  She screamed for him, but he didn’t seem to hear her. He was slapping
  himself and dancing on the top of the dock, trying to put out the fire, which
  seemed to come from his chest and burn upwards. . . .
  
  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are
  products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any
  resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is
  entirely coincidental.
  