TITLE: Untitled because I’m entering it into a contest 😉
GENRE: YA Science Fiction
WORD COUNT: 70,000 words
STATUS: Completed, back from beta readers and with a content editor
EXCERPT: “Cold?” he asks.
I shake my head. How can I explain I’m not shivering because it’s cold, but because icy fear has seized me? I’m gripped with a terrible sense of foreboding. That woman is up to no good, and that’s putting it mildly. She’s plotting for my destruction. All I can think about is her glittery red dress and her sly smile. She was so angry. No. That’s not the right word. What was she?
That’s the word. Pure evil emanated from every pore. She enjoyed hurting me.
We parked at the lot’s far end, and we’re halfway across when bright headlights illuminate us from behind. We both look around and shield our eyes from the glare. I can’t see anything. An engine roars to life then settles down to a dull growl.
“Let’s keep going,” Thomas says, and we turn back toward his car. The growling gets closer. I glance behind me again. A red Corvette crawls after us.
It’s the woman. I know it is. I break out in a sweat. We keep walking. The Corvette stops. We’re almost to the car. Tires squeal, and we turn again as the headlights bear down on us at a terrifying speed.
“What the—” Thomas pulls me out of the way as the Corvette tears by us, my hair flying into my face. Brakes slam, leaving black tracks on the pavement. The Corvette circles like a huge, fiery wildcat, drives between us and the car, the engine revving.
Great. There’s nowhere to go. We’re about to get smeared across the pavement.
TITLE: Beyond the Stars, Past the Moon
GENRE: Science Fiction, short story
WORD COUNT: 8,000 words
STATUS: First draft completed, with critique partners
EXCERPT: When I’m sure we’re going to implode, the pod goes motionless, and the noise ceases. Except for Spark who continues to yip. I open my eyes cautiously. There’s a red glow through the window. We must be inside the base.
“Shush,” I tell Spark. She whimpers, turns in a circle and flops down to rest her pointed chin on her paws. I undo my harness. “Tegan, what’s the atmosphere like?”
“Full suit recommended, though Spark will be unaffected. It appears the lower deck of the base is safe, but the upper levels have a sulfur reading of—”
“Enough already.” I jam my helmet on. The recycled air reeks of rubber and artificial strawberries. Lovely. “What about life forms? A simple yes or no will suffice.”
“Yes. One. Male. Sentient. Though…strange.”
“I can’t get a reading on species, though he is bipedal.”
“And hopefully friendly.” I unlatch the kennel door. Spark leaps to the floor and stretches as I prime the small blaster then slide it into my holster. It’s pretty much a useless weapon. Stunning someone for twenty seconds will give me enough time to find a stellar hiding place—not.
The blade strapped to my thigh is a different story. Made from a sliver of freshum crystal, the knife will slice through anything. Dad fashioned it for me, setting my birthstone—a fiery-red star opal—in the hilt. He said it matched my hair. And my temper.
TITLE: The Two Queens of Kyrie
GENRE: YA Fantasy
WORD COUNT: 80,000 words
STATUS: Complete revision in process
“Shhh.” Father shakes his head, and we both look at the curtains drawn around the alcove where Samara still murmurs her prayers. “Your mother wanted you to have it.”
“Are you sure? Shouldn’t it be Samara’s?” Even as I protest, I pick up the bracelet, tilting it so the emerald catches the light with a green flash. A powerful surge sweeps through my wrist and forearm. I inhale sharply and almost drop the bracelet. The contact is painful but exhilarating. As the pain intensifies, my fingers curl around the bracelet. My hand glows golden. My bones are on fire.
The air crackles with energy, and my hair lifts off my scalp, as my vision fades.
Oil lamps blazing. People crowding the room. My fingertips smooth over the embroidered gold figures on my deep blue wool gown. I glance behind me at the empty throne.
“Put the bracelet in the bag.” The quiet words shatter my vision. I’m back on the bed, sitting next to Father. “In here.” He fumbles for the box.
I don’t want to obey, but he’s insistent. Finally I pick up the velvet sack in the box and slip the bracelet inside. The sensation fades. My hand returns to its normal color. The bracelet hums for a moment then falls silent.
“I’m sorry,” Father runs his hand over his face. “I should’ve given it to you before.”
I hardly register his apology but stare at my arm. “This isn’t an ordinary bracelet.”
“No, it isn’t.