I hope to interest you in taking a look at IN GENEVIEVE’S GROTTO, my YA fantasy complete at 86,000 words.
Jemma’s parents have always had one rule for her: don’t get caught. So when she nearly drowns an entire school and everyone in it, they flee to their hometown, Pequot Woods,
The town is ruled by an underground society focused on the education of Elderlings, people with a gift for controlling the elements. People like Jemma--sort of. The thing is, she’s not even normal for an Elderling. The telepathic link she shares with her new Elderling neighbor, Cole isn’t supposed to exist. There’s only been one other documented case of this ability, and that story’s mostly myth.
When an ancient Elderling cult learns of their connection, they think it’s a sign. History is repeating itself. All that’s missing is the psychopath trying to obliterate a good portion of the Elderling race. And now that Jemma’s returned to Pequot, the only thing that can stop the sequence is her death. But Jemma isn’t convinced. She’s never heard of this psycho, this Hammond the Horrible and has no sympathy for his cause--whatever that might be. But try explaining that to a bunch of masked freaks whose only working words seem to be we want only to save the world. Jemma doesn’t care about saving the world. She cares about her friends, her family--maybe even Cole. The thing is, simply hiding isn’t really an option.
I set my bag down on the stairs and did a quick check. Cell phone, pens, pencils, house keys…all there. Though the keys still felt bulky in my hands. Awkward, almost. There were more of them than I was used to, with separate keys for the front and back doors, and another one for our garage. Even having a garage was new.
“You’ll settle in, Jemstone, I promise. It’s only been a few weeks.”
Mom leaned against the archway. I hated how she could always read me. It made keeping secrets really hard. And I was the sort of girl that had a lot of them.
“This is home, you know. This is where you were born.”
So they’d told me. At least a dozen times. On the trip up here alone. But I didn’t remember it. I was two years old when we moved to
“This is your chance, Jemma, your chance to start over. Make friends. What about that boy that keeps lurking around here? He seems nice. Not stalkerish at all.”
I laughed. Cole wasn’t a stalker, I knew that now, but I’d had my suspicions too when I first found him stamping out a fire in our front yard. He claimed he’d overshot a model rocket, but his house was a good quarter of the mile through the woods.
I still didn’t really know what he was doing in our yard that day, since I never did see any wreckage from that rocket, but so far I was glad I’d caught him.