#14 THE SNOW GLOBE (YA fantasy)

Dear Agents,

Sixteen-year-old Sondrine Quint is an Elementalist, able to weave fire, water, and air into both inanimate objects and living creatures. By day she works at Cimmerian’s Curio Emporium, her aunt’s apothecary and antique shop. When a hooded stranger offers Sondrine a snow globe in trade for medicinal herbs, she accepts, enchanted by the castle, forest, and sea encapsulated under the glass.

Her enchantment fades, however, when her deceitful aunt betroths her to one of London ’s wealthiest men—a complete stranger. Determined to escape the marriage, Sondrine trades her corset for trousers and decides to run away. With one foot out the door, she falls down a veritable rabbit hole into Winterhaven, the haunting world inside the snow globe.

Sondrine soon discovers her arrival in Winterhaven is no accident. There, she meets Shan, a man who broods more than the darkened sky above. Turns out Shan is not to be trusted. Not only is he the man who sold Sondrine the snow globe, he is a bounty hunter employed by the king. The beginnings of a sovereign war have been set in motion and an Immortal queen, one who uses fire as a weapon, is set on destroying Winterhaven. Because of her Elemental gifts, only Sondrine has the means to stop the queen. If Sondrine refuses the king’s request, he will behead her. If she rises to the challenge of killing the Immortal queen, her death is just as imminent. After all, surely an Immortal queen cannot be killed.

Or can she?

THE SNOW GLOBE is an 85,000 word YA Fantasy with a strong element of mystery and a hint of romance. If you would like to consider THE SNOW GLOBE, I would be happy to send the manuscript.

Thank you for your time and consideration on this project.

Jenna Nelson

~1~

 Lavender and anise coalesced through the air inside Cimmerian’s Curio Emporium, a hint of black pepper, calendula, perhaps, underneath. Mahogany shelves stretched floor to ceiling along the far wall behind the counter, each bursting with remedies for various ailments and abnormalities. On the top shelf, a line of glass jars held medicinal powders in a rainbow of hues. Metal canisters below housed fibrous roots, dried herbs, and exotic spices from rainforests halfway around the world. Located in the very center, tucked inside the oval glass cabinet, were long-necked bottles and oblong tins filled with healing salves, oils, creams, and liniments, all emblazoned with Cimmerian’s distinctive seal.

 Sondrine Quint sat behind the counter of the shop, chin on folded hands, concentrating on the large block of ice set before her. A flush of candlelight fell across the surface, vapor whispered around the edges. Straight lines softened and the cube relaxed into a cylindrical shape. Starting from both ends, wide vertical grooves burrowed through the surface leaving slivers of fractured ice in their wakes. On one side the grooves converged and spiraled into a deep burl in the center. Pieces on top thinned into long needles, twining left, right, and straight up, forming an icy tangle of gnarled branches.

Aside from the sound of Sondrine’s anxious breathing, and the shifting gears from the Aeriscloque—the unique timepiece draped around her neck—the room fell silent. A cocoon sprouted from one of the extended branches where Sondrine touched it with her fingertip. Before long the pod expanded and twitched, a lengthwise crack traveling up the middle.

 “Don’t be afraid,” Sondrine whispered.

 The head of a butterfly poked through the opening, and a set of feelers tested the air. After a few minutes, the butterfly pulled the rest of its body free from the cocoon. One frosted wing unfolded, followed by the other. The insect flapped once, then again, over and over, until the wings beat back and forth in a silvery blur. When water began to drip from them, Sondrine pushed the candle farther away.

“You can do it,” she said in an excited whisper. “Fly once around the shop and return to me.” The delicate butterfly rose into the air, hovering for a moment, right before Sondrine’s eyes.

Three strident knocks struck the emporium’s front door, breaking Sondrine’s concentration. Before she could reach out to catch the butterfly, it fell to the counter and shattered into irreparable pieces. The stab of disappointment felt sharp as the ice shards that she swept into the trash bin. Wiping her hands on her dress, Sondrine walked around the counter to the front door of the shop. She pulled up the carnelian tasseled shade, allowing the afternoon sun to devour the shadows, there just moments ago.

A man in a brown leather cloak stood on the other side of the door, fist raised in the air, about to knock again. Aside from his strong jaw, the folds of the cloak’s long hood obstructed his face.