Reaper Blurb:
There’s
no way sixteen year old Quincy Amarante will become the fifth grim reaper.
None. Not over her shiny blue Mustang. Her Jimmy Choos. Or her dead body.
She’s supposed to
enjoy her sophomore year, not learn about some freaky future Destiny says she
has no choice but to fulfill.
It doesn’t take
long for Quincy to realize the only way out of the game is to play along
especially since Death can find her anyway, anywhere, anytime. And does.
Like when she’s
reassuring her friends she wants nothing to do with former best friend Ben
Moorland, who’s returned from god-knows-where, and fails. Miserably.
Instead of
maintaining her coveted popularity status, Quincy’s goes down like the Titanic.
Maybe … just
maybe … that’s okay.
It seems,
perhaps, becoming a grim reaper isn’t just about the dead but more about a much
needed shift in Quincy’s priorities—from who she thinks she wants to be to who
she really is.
Bio:
L.S. Murphy
lives in the Greater St. Louis area where she watches Cardinals baseball, reads
every book she can find, and weaves tales for teens and adults. When not doing
all of the above, she tends to The Bean (aka her daughter), her husband and a menagerie
of pets. “A Reason to Stay”, a contemporary romance novella, is available as of
November 2, 2012. Reaper is her debut young adult novel and will be
released on January 7th, 2013.
She is a co-rep
for the Southern Illinois region of Society of Children’s Book Writers and
Illustrators (SCBWI) and a
member of the St. Louis Writer’s Guild.
Links:
Blog: http://lsmurphy.com
Twitter: https://twitter.com/LSMurphy
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/LSMurphyAuthor
Publisher: http://www.jtaylorpublishing.com/
Excerpt
A spitball stops in mid-air less than an inch from
my nose.
It hangs there. I assume everyone else notices the
wet wad of paper too, but when I turn to my bestie Jordan, her mouth is stuck
open with her eyes half closed.
She was just laughing. Now she’s ... frozen?
The sudden silence is louder than a room full of
gossiping teenagers.
Mini-quakes creep up my spine like a centipede
hurrying toward my hair.
I’m not entirely sure my heart is beating. I wave
my shaking hand in front of Jordan, hoping this will break her free of whatever
happened.
No reaction.
Why am I moving?
So many times, I wished Jordan would stop talking.
Now is the one time I need her high-pitched voice to pierce my ears.
Quin, relax. It’s okay. No way this is real. I
pinch my arm hard, but it doesn’t change anything.
A loud pop makes me spin around in my seat. A man
stands in front of the chalkboard in a bluish-white robe staring at me through
blizzard white eyes. He holds a staff in front of him that looks like melting
glass.
“Hello, Quincy,” he says in a deep velvet voice.
“How would you like to see your future?”
I stand and stumble toward the back of the room.
“Who are you supposed to be? Gandalf?” I’m unable to keep the tremor out of my
voice.
“One person dresses up like me in a movie, and
that’s all I hear.” He leans back on Mr. Spragg’s desk. “I’m far more
attractive than him and so much more fun.” He winks and lifts his robe,
revealing a pair of yellow and red striped Bermuda shorts and orange
flip-flops.
My eyes pop wider at the mismatched mess, but I
keep my thoughts about his sense of fashion to myself.
“Who are you?”
His sigh echoes off the walls. “I’m
Destiny.”
“Who?”
Rolling his eyes, he raises the staff high to his
left. Like a swordsman, he stabs and swooshes it down in an arch. The air
ripples as a dark slit opens. A man in a deep brown pinstripe suit steps
through. His cheap sneakers don’t match the formality of the tan fedora and
horn-rimmed glasses.
A pony-sized white German shepherd saunters in
behind him, and I take an automatic step back. The dog turns his head, black
orbs where its eyes should be.
Pinstripe man glances my way before turning toward the person who calls himself
Destiny. His features contort and a maroon tint creeps over his face.
“What the f—”
Destiny flips his finger and the new guy shuts up.
After a moment, he does another finger move.
“We said when she was eighteen, Des.”
“I’m aware of that, Forsyth.”
“She’s not eighteen.”
“Really? I never would have guessed.” Sarcasm
fills each word as Destiny raises his eyebrows like a flag on the Fourth of
July.
Forsyth glares. “Then why am I here?”
“I let you pick the date, but I never agreed to
honor it.” Destiny pats the dog on the head with sneer and wipes his hands on
his robe. “Now is the time. Teach her.”
