YA Contemporary Fantasy – Complete at 60,000 words
*This is NOT a self-published novel.
It’s the first novel I wrote and after much deliberation I’ve decided to serialize it via Wattpad.
Well, while I was writing it I met a lot of readers who really liked the story however for various reasons I didn’t get representation for it. However I want those readers who want to read it to get that chance (for free!). It’s also a way for me to give a story that’s dear to my heart a *peek* at the light of day.
You can read it here: http://www.wattpad.com/story/20184851-blood-of-isis
Please leave a comment if you do read it, I love interacting with readers 😀
If you’re here from Wattpad, feel free to browse around. You can learn more about me and read excerpts from the rest of my stories. However this is the only manuscript I’m serializing as I’m currently seeking representation and hoping to be traditionally published!
After years of traveling the world with her Egyptologist mom, all seventeen-year-old Aziza Harper wants is to go back to Boston and the home they left five years ago. To please her mom she enrolls in a pre-college summer program in Cairo, the city of her maternal ancestors, with the goal of completing it and her senior year then going stateside for college where she can finally live the life she wants.
But when Aziza’s nearly killed by a classmate who sprouts a lion’s head and turns into the ruthless Egyptian Goddess Sekhmet, achieving her goal won’t be as easy as she thought. Then her grandma disappears and she escapes death, once more, with the aid of a group of young women who are descendants of Egyptian deities. They claim Aziza’s the rightful heir out of a long line of descendants of the Egyptian Goddess Isis, the one who has the power to defeat the malevolent god Seth who wants to rule their world as revenge on the gods who forsook him long ago.
Aided by the ragtag group of teens, in particular their wise and beautiful leader, Mari, it’s up to Aziza to find her missing grandma, defeat Seth and his minions, and uncover the truth about her heritage and her powers, before it’s too late. If she fails, not only will she lose her life but she’ll lose the lives of her companions…the only friends she has ever had.
I believe BLOOD OF ISIS will appeal to fans of HUNTRESS by Malinda Lo and DAUGHTER OF SMOKE AND BONE by Laini Taylor.
The sharp smell of spices, meats, and perfumes collided as I walked through the Khan El-Khalili bazaar. People zoomed in and out like cars on a highway, touching trinkets, jingling jewelry, and clinging to cloth while French, English, and Arabic’s many dialects intertwined throughout the aisles as I stood in the middle of the madness, fighting for my sanity. A car honked and a radio blared reminding me that though the bazaar harkened of a distant time, it was grounded in the twenty-first century. Beside me was a group of tourists who were ooing and ahing at the pretty silks hanging from a beam in front of them. The vendor lied to one of the women, telling her in his broken English how its reddish color would complement her fiery hair. On my other side were several children, deep in a game of tag. My eyes flitted over them to the mob of people whose faces blurred until they resembled the Monet landscapes at my favorite museum, the Musee d’Orsay. I sighed as my left hand grazed over the frayed edges of my passport. Hollywood had it all wrong; there was nothing glamorous about having an Egyptologist for a mom.Rarely was there a familiar face anywhere we went. I pushed through the knotted isles and came out on the other side. Smiling, I held out my arms as warmth rippled through my skin and encased me in a golden glow. Cairo might not be home, but at least it wasn’t London. My shoulders itched after a few minutes. In my stubborn refusal to wear sunscreen I’d forgotten that the sun had no problems with peeling my skin as easily as one might a Clementine. I headed to an archway etched with geometric patterns only to have the squeal of one of my new classmates interrupt me. “Aziza,” she called in her shrill, bubbly voice. I grimaced as she bounced my way. My flight had arrived late and by the time I’d arrived at the university everyone had paired off and left me to fend for myself. Lacie was the only one who’d spoken to me on the trip to the bazaar. We’d clung fast to each other though we had little in common. Not that she knew that for she rarely talked about anything other than herself. Luckily the program was only for two weeks. Attending a college prep program was not my idea of a relaxing summer, especially one my mom was teaching at. I crinkled my nose. Having her as my teacher was the worst. In Lacie’s hand was a vial of perfume. She sprayed it in my direction, and a cloud that like smelled like a cleaning products aisle settled above me. “Isn’t it delightful?” I coughed as the mist hit my mouth, “Ew. What is that?” She turned to the vendor, “You said it’s some kind of French perfume, right?” Her Arabic was so formulaic that it was difficult for me, and most likely the vendor, to understand. The man nodded; smiling as if to say, just buy it. “Lacie, that stuff is so watered down that there’s no telling what it is. If it’s French you should ask him the brand.” She spoke to him in hushed tones, and he knitted his eyebrows then shook his head. She waved the perfume around, and her voice rose in volume as if she was trying to grab the attention of everyone at the marketplace. The man spoke and waved his hands back at her. I caught wind of the word “final,” and raked my hand through my tangled hair. I groaned. This was going to be a long day. I rushed toward the vendor, pushing aside the silk scarves and cotton shirts that dangled before me like ripe fruit. “Pardon me, sir,” I said in the Egyptian dialect. “Is there a problem?” He spoke rapidly, one word tumbling out after the other. His hand gripped a wooden cane, and his face reddened the more he spoke. Soon the entire bazaar really was going to be watching us. A police officer, who was lingering beside a nearby booth, turned in our direction. “I’m sorry,” I said to the vendor, recognizing the need to end the dispute. “My friend meant no disrespect. What she meant wa—” “I know what I meant,” Lacie’s hand locked onto my wrist. “You said it yourself, he ripped me off—” “Lacie, your eyes,” I yanked my hand away. Her eyes had shifted to the color of dried blood while her face had paled and seemed iridescent against the sun’s beams. She grabbed a nearby mirror and breathed deeply before turning back to me, “It’s nothing.” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes were back to blue as if it’d been a cheap magician’s trick. The bazaar attendees continued to browse the booths and haggle, and the vendor had turned his attention to a young woman. I shook my head. Had I really been the only one to see it? Maybe jetlag was catching up to me. “Come on,” Lacie pocketed the perfume. “Let’s get out of here.” I nodded, becoming a marionette with Lacie as my puppeteer dragging me from the booth. At least the crisis had been averted. “How’d you know it was fake?” I gazed at the reddish-yellow sky that reminded me of the New England Autumns I’d experienced as a child. “The city might change, but the marketplaces don’t.” I pulled out my phone, “We should go. Professor Thompson will be looking for us.” Watching over a bunch of high schoolers probably wasn’t his idea of a relaxing summer either. Lacie flipped her curls, “Who cares about Old Al.” She used the name some fellow juniors had given our chaperon after seeing his collection of Albert Einstein posters. “Look!” She pointed to a tiny alleyway separate from the rest of the bazaar. “There’s a jewelry booth,” she grinned. “Let’s go see what it has.” I squinted; I could see no booth, “Lacie, I don’t th—” Her Tory Birch flats tore through the sand as she weaved in between the crowds. That girl is going to get herself snatched one day, I sighed before tracing her path out the bazaar.