Secret Agent #8

TITLE: Shadow of the Stars
GENRE: YA Fantasy

Levi exited the wooded path leading toward Oliver’s home and a ribbon of golden light drew a band across his eyes. As he breached the final fallen tree, the carcass of which succumbed to the curse of time, he was forced to cover his face with his sleeve. He paid the price of doing so by stepping through a rotted piece of the trunk. Levi staggered, quickly recovered, and shook free the nasty critters that lived inside the decrepit tree husk whose only crime was growing in a climate that received little to no rainfall.

As he spun around to face the Williams’s house again, the sky blossomed in a vibrant swatch of pinks and oranges as the clouds spread here and there. The last of the dying rays tried to blind Levi a second time, but he found his friend. Just like the sky, Levi’s face went pink. Not so pink where it was noticeable at his distance from Oliver, but pink enough that he could feel the very tingle in his toes that forced him to wiggle the sensation out. But it was so common a feeling, the nerves and aches of being close to Oliver grew wise to Levi’s efforts, and instead they worked up and around his legs, to the small of his back, and ended right at his heart which always began to beat faster.

Levi tugged his ball cap lower to shield his eyes. Oliver came back into view.

Secret Agent #7

TITLE: Becca's War
GENRE: MG Historical

 

          Another train sped into Kensington Station, spewing smoke and soot everywhere. Horses shrieked as the huge iron engine squealed to a stop. Papa said these trains could go as fast as thirty miles an hour. My head spun at the thought of going that fast.  A cold wind propelled soot our direction as we moved out onto the platform. Shivering, I brushed soot off my cloak then stuck my hands into the fur muff Mama and Papa had given me for my thirteenth birthday last month. I glanced around at dozens of people dashing to or from the train that had just stopped. They all seemed to be in as much of a hurry as the train. Where were they all going in such a rush? For a moment, I was jealous that I wasn’t going someplace with them. Even if it meant going that fast on one of the trains nearby.

           The mass of rushing people jostled me as they hastened past and I realized I wasn’t paying as much attention as I should. I almost lost my balance, but I felt a hand on my elbow to steady me.

            “Sorry, Miss.” I looked up at a tall young man, several years older than I was, who grinned and doffed his hat.

            I frowned at him, but stopped myself. I nodded and straightened my own hat, which he had knocked askew by his carelessness. At least he’d apologized, I thought as he joined the crowd whirling around the station.

 

 

Secret Agent #6

TITLE: The Blue Jay
GENRE: MG Fantasy

The bus rolled across the pavement like a living thing, its bright yellow sides warning of danger. I stood on the sidewalk, watching the beastly vehicle inch closer, ready to swallow me whole. There was no avoiding my fate. I was doomed. 

Images whirled through my mind, escaping through the cracks of my willpower as I tried to get a grip on them, predicting a disastrous chain of events. The bus crashing into a truck, rolling down a hill, landing on its back, underbelly exposed, until an explosion engulfs it in flames. The sensible part of my brain knew the chances of that happening were almost zero, but the part that insisted on imagining the worst wouldn’t see reason. 

In the real world, a squeal of brakes signaled the bus’s arrival. The doors hissed open. The long line of kids in front of me began filing up the steps, laughing and joking as if our very lives weren’t hanging in the balance. 

My heart rate accelerated from race car to jet plane. 

Mom would say I was being dramatic. 

Kyle would call me a wimp. 

Anna would offer to let me borrow her stuffed lion to give me courage. Like I was a baby. 

There were only two kids in front of me now. One. 

I stopped just shy of the door, staring at the black rubber stripes lining the steps. My mind went through its usual routine of trying to find a way out.

Secret Agent #5

TITLE: A Tale of Two Kingdoms
GENRE: YA Fantasy

If I faint Sasha will never let me live it down. Like everyone else gathered there, the two kings and the two queens were watching their every move. Jarron couldn’t see Sasha, there were too many people seated between them, but they were headed for the same place -- the massive, majestic dais at the head of the room, where their parents were waiting.

I have lost my mind, and I am not even betrothed yet... The heavy weight of his court clothes were not helping the trapped feeling. At fourteen, it wasn’t exactly his first time in full ceremonial dress, as crown prince he’d been wearing it practically since he was born, but it never got easier.

The fitted white jacket, draped with royal orders, medals of rank, and large golden epaulets, made it an actual chore to stand straight. But, as Sergei, his valet, mentor, and right hadn had told him; at least he looked good doing it. Put all together, the doublet, the tight white trousers with the Korbaumi green stripe running up the sides, and the gleaming black knee-high boots made a really princely picture, but all Jarron cared about was that it made him look even taller than he was. As his betrothal vows drew nearer, he knew he needed all the help he could get.

I can do this. And hopefully no one will notice that my chest is heaving so hard, my medals are practically jingling.

Secret Agent #4

TITLE: The Beneficiary
GENRE: Adult Women's Fiction

Rena Harding slapped the invoice stamped “Past Due” on the table and peered out the window to the sign someone had staked into the mud flats. The next item on her list would be to march down and yank it out. She’d do that as soon as she figured out how to deal with the electric bill.

It was June. Plenty of kerosene in the shed. She and Will could fire up the old hurricane lamps. She’d use the electric stove as little as possible. Instead, make it fun. Cook using driftwood on an outdoor fire. Cold-water washes in the set-tub, sheets flapping on the line. They’d be okay here on the island. They knew how to toss a hook—Will had been fishing since he learned to walk. Besides, a few jabs in the mud with a clam fork or a trip to a populated rock and they’d have all the shellfish they’d need. Sautéed mussels. Mussel stew. Clam chowder, cakes, stuffed. She’d mix it up. Flavor things with onion, dill, a potato or two. A few extra shifts at the diner and they’d make it—through the summer, anyway.

Lord, the sign out there annoyed her. It was one thing during election season. But now? Why would anyone bother to put one out here? Rena tossed the bill aside. Letting the screen door slam behind her, she weaved through the reeds, skirting the patch of eel-grass flowing down to the harbor. There, she discovered real trouble.