An Agent's Inbox #17

Dear awesome agent:

Lark Hawkins comes from a long line of mind manipulators. And it totally sucks that she has to follow The Rules.

She may possess the same thought-influencing gift as others scattered throughout history, but she's not exempt from the dos and don'ts of her tribe. At 16, Rule Three is killing her mojo: she's forbidden to make anyone fall in love with her.

Lark's broken the rule before but this time the Ducere are lurking. Once the king-making CIA of the Duo underground, its mission to recruit, train and mobilize Duos has taken a sinister turn under its new leader. He's using members' talents to wipe out Free Spirits, or people immune to Duo power, and Lark's strong abilities are on his radar. She's been warned to lay low but, obsessed with hockey star Peter Hubbard, Lark finds obedience as impossible as dancing in tar-covered ballet shoes. Giving in to one tiny temptation results in a tragic accident and Lark is forced to seek refuge offered by the Ducere at their headquarters in Oxford, England. Once there, Lark discovers she's a pawn in a game of murder. She'd better think fast or she'll become the weapon that devastates the lives of everyone she loves.

For 13 years, I was a journalist for papers in Minnesota, Washington, and most recently, the Anchorage Daily News. I'm a co-founder of a local chapter of the Alaska Writer's Guild and at one point, was represented by Janet Benrey of Benrey Literary Agency.

Thanks for your time,
M.W.


DUO

I didn’t really understand the definition of obstacle until I met Stewart Moore.

The first time I noticed him, he was just a boy in a flannel jacket throwing punches at Royce-the-gorilla, the appropriately named football player.  My friends and I heard the noise in the main hallway after the final bell and pushed our way to the front of the yelling crowd.

I’d just caught sight of two writhing bodies wrestling on the floor when a skinny freshman crowed like a rooster right in my ear.

Turning to face him, I sent a spike of brain pain right between his eyes. The freshman--a string bean topped with a head of fuzzy hair and two gage earrings--stumbled backward, his face contorted as if he’d developed the worst headache.

Chrystal and Kaylee squeezed into the gap he left behind.  Both had their phones out, thumbs blurring over keyboards while they simultaneously watched the fight.

I spent the next few seconds scanning screaming faces to spot my current crush, Peter Hubbard, whose curly black hair and height meant he towered above everyone else.  He was the star center on our school hockey team, moved like a striking eagle on the ice and turned the air into a drug every time he was in the room. He watched his current girlfriend with a pair of hazel eyes that crowned her queen of all things.

And for the past month, I’d wanted to be the new queen.