Title: MY NAME IS KARMA
Genre: YA Speculative Fiction
Word Count: 88,000
Abelia Blackwell is a Karma: a being sent from another dimension to regulate the actions of mankind. Her time in the human world should be spent supporting good Samaritans and derailing society’s criminals. Not befriending two teens with horrible pasts to help them overcome their suffering, as she’s been assigned to do. One of the teens lives in complete neglect. The other blames herself for all of her life’s misfortunes, including her father’s disappearance when she was a baby. Both of them mean trouble for Abelia.
Her biggest problem with the assignment is that it tears her away from what she really cares about: her rebel organization back home. As its leader, she was captured and sent to the human world as punishment. She’s certain the tyrannical king of her world did not send her with the intention of helping humans. He did it to get her out of his way.
While Abelia would love to save the teens, she’d much rather go home to stop the king’s injustices. Unfortunately, saving these two girls is her only chance to return. It’s not just her only chance to return -- and her only chance to survive. Under the king’s cruel reign, the punishment for failing a Karma mission is execution. If Abelia can’t lead these teens from the self-destructive paths they're on, she’ll die.
It's not like I killed someone. Hell, I 'd been saving someone from being killed. Yet my new guardian is glaring at me while she reads, all because I've been arbitrarily branded a criminal. The trained focus of her eyes on the page make it obvious that she's reading the guide word-for-word. I settle in for a boring hour of being lectured.
“As a Karma living in the human world, you will be responsible for regulating the good and bad deeds of mankind," she starts. "Is this based on the normal idea of good and bad, or the messed up version where it's totally cool to kill an innocent little kid and absolutely vile to try and save them?" I can't help the spite that leaks into my words. I didn't think it was possible, but her glare increases in intensity. Sorry to separate you from your plethora of books, madam, but I don't want to be here either. She'd been reading when I arrived and one of the first things I noticed in the room was the books. Books everywhere. On the coffee table, on the shelves. Hundreds of them. It's almost claustrophobic.
"The former," she replies with a clipped tone. It seems like arguing with her won't get me anywhere. Begrudgingly, I allow her to continue reading the guardian manual.