Since you’re generous enough to participate in Krista’s contest, and I’m sure you represent some very talented authors whose books resemble mine, I think my manuscript would be a good fit for you.
Sixteen-year-old burn victim Rissa McCall expects sand and sun when she’s shuffled off to
The resort community is hiding a dark secret, but so are the McCalls--each sibling has special powers. When barracudas attack divers and dead birds fall from the sky, Rissa discovers a fabled pharaonic artifact, the Black Ankh, is behind many strange events in the seaside town. She must decide who to trust and outwit enemies who are determined to gain the Ankh's power. If she manages to find the ancient relic, she must re-bury it--unless the whispers in her head can tempt her to use it, which will damn her soul forever.
I’m seeking representation for THE BLACK ANKH, a 70,000 word YA Dark Fantasy/Mystery. I’ve traveled, worked, and lived in
Thank you for your time and consideration.
THE BLACK ANKH
The Normies were staring again.
Rissa fiddled with her fork and avoided their eyes. Even in an Egyptian resort where everyone was a stranger, she was the strangest.
Music crescendoed, and she glanced up as her older sister sang a clear, high note. Beneath the spotlights, Sophie glowed like a golden-haired angel--if angels wore stilettos, mini-skirts, and showed cleavage.
Rissa’s fork banged onto the plate. She couldn’t leave until Andy came back. He was her responsibility, not Sophie’s, no matter what their mom said. Maybe he was lost again. She rose and wove between candlelit tables. The nearest guests paused between mouthfuls, so she tugged her sleeves down, hiding scarred flesh.
Dancing couples parted before her, and she hurried into the garden where crickets chirped their own romantic ballads. Ripe dates from overhanging palms lay scattered on the path. Her boot heels smashed them into the concrete. At the Red Sea Divers sign, she turned toward the restroom building, eyeing the surroundings. Her eleven-year-old brother was nowhere to be seen. How did a kid who could see the future have such a bad sense of direction?
She knocked on the men’s room door. “Andy? It’s been fifteen minutes.”
A high-pitched scream shattered the cricket concerto. She spun and searched the darkness. Sticks snapped as something blundered through the bushes opposite the bathrooms. She shrank back against the wall.
Andy burst through the hedges, his face pale. “Rissa!” He grabbed her hand, dragged her through the underbrush to a shed, and pointed through the open door.