An Agent's Inbox #4

Dear Agent,

Here is what Dexter Gallagher knows regarding firebirds--

1. They are mythical creatures, and therefore do not exist.
2. Because they do not exist, they can't set bullies’ hairs on fire (even when they deserve it).
3. They definitely do not turn into beautiful, affectionate girls at night.

So when a firebird follows him to school one day and proves all of the above, Dexter is terrified. And he’s in for another shock: his long-absent father’s a warrior from Faer (a land not-so-coincidentally known for rare firebirds) and he’s resurfaced to take custody now that his mother's passed away. And that means Dexter and his firebird are moving to a fairytale land of magic and (spoiled) princesses and witches.

But there’s a lot of things they don’t mention in the travel brochure. Like crazy seeresses, or wolves made of ice, or large amorous frogs. There’s an awful Snow Queen who needs the firebird to find Faer’s most powerful sword, and she’d kill to get her hands on both. And in between fending off ogres and icemaidens, and finding friendships and first loves in the oddest places, Dexter’s realizing you don’t need to be the hero stories say you should be, to fight for the things that matter most.

FIREKEEPER is a 69,000-word upper middle grade fantasy set in a cocktail of re-imagined fairytales. While I've neither successfully cast a magic spell nor rescued a princess from a very high tower, I've been mistaken enough times for a witch that I feel more than qualified to write stories involving them.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,
E.C.


FIREKEEPER

The firebird sat atop an old-fashioned mailbox at Dharma Downs Lane. Rather than retreat to the safety of nearby trees and rooftops as any sensible animal would have done, it drew itself up, as regal as any queen, and waited for the shades to attack.

The shades in question were already closing in, and assuming frightening, monstrous shapes. Some took human form, with long sharp claws in place of hands. Others took on semblances of wolves and bears and strange winged creatures; black eyeless silhouettes with teeth.

The firebird chirped a warning, but the shades paid little heed. So it sighed--a resigned, I-really-did-warn-you-about-this-you-know sigh--and glowed. Its feathers, a variety of yellows and reds and oranges tipped with a subtle silver shimmer, flared. Its majestic tail fanned out like a vestal train, whipping at slow, concentrated intervals. Despite its bravado, it had a wide-eyed curiosity about it suggesting it had not been a firebird for very long and, if the shades had their way, would not be one for much longer.

The nearest shape reached out for the bird, claws extended and sharp. It was promptly engulfed in an angry red blaze.

For one brief second the firebird reared; smoldering, ardent, angry. In the next it shifted and lengthened, beak and wings giving way to limbs and legs.

Now a young girl crouched; comely, naked, and still angry. Feathered crown had given way to a spirited mess of hair that lashed around her body like coiled firelight.