Dear Secret Agent,
I am requesting your consideration of THE WIND WALKER, a young adult paranormal. Complete at 80,000 words, it is likely to appeal to readers of Melissa Marr and Cassandra Clare.
Half-mortal Michaela Bell fears the power that coils inside her—for seventeen years her mother has warned her not to use it. But when she sees her stepfather punch her mother, she can’t help herself. And that’s exactly what Lilith, a dark goddess banished by Michaela’s true father, has planned all along. Tapping into Michaela’s power intertwines their energies and lets Lilith escape her otherworldly prison.
Fleeing Lilith, Michaela finds help from Luke, an immortal who secretly fell in love with her while protecting her in the mortal realm. He leads her to safety in the world of beautiful beings like her father who are simultaneously angels, gods, shapeshifters, and the mythology behind all mythologies.
With Michaela and Lilith linked, killing one will destroy the other. While the immortals block Lilith from stealing more of her energy, Michaela must remain hidden at the Winter House learning to use her power and her father’s sword to protect herself. Then Lilith threatens her human mother, and Michaela can’t trade her mother’s safety for her own. Lured out into danger, she and Luke fall into a succession of Lilith’s traps, and Michaela must choose what to save: her own life and the forbidden promise of her love for Luke; or the safety of the human race.
I am a full-time copywriter and a member of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators. My fiction for young readers has been published in magazines including Ladybug, Highlights, Humpty Dumpty, and the Journal for Early Childhood Education.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Best regards,
***
I refuse to be the abomination that destroys the world. But in my defense, you can’t trap power and try to hold it. Power is tricky. It worms around your safeguards, finds traction, and shatters every protection the minute your guard is down.
There should be an alarm for that kind of explosion, a hint of brimstone. My only warning was the front door left open on a cold, October day, and weeks of dreaming had dulled my senses. Or maybe I was used to my mother forgetting things like doors, birthdays, and even groceries. I’d stopped expecting trouble the past few years.
I crossed the lawn thinking about my Calculus exam and helping my friend Sophie with her Halloween costume on Friday. The sweet smoke of burning leaves pricked my nose. The wind caught my hair and whipped it around my shoulders. Daughtry played on my iPod as I climbed the wide, porch steps, and the big, leather purse full of books kept time against my hip. Everything looked normal.
The illusion shattered with my stepfather’s fist and my mother’s broken scream.
The open door framed them as she fell.
I gasped and tripped on the threshold. Power uncoiled inside me, a surge of energy shivering along my nerves, searing through my fingers to explode with a force that left me shaking.
Bobby Ray flew back across the room and crashed against the wall.
I stared at my hands in disbelief.
His arm smashed a vase in a spray
