Title: CALLING DEATH
Genre: YA Paranormal
Word Count: 64,000
Sixteen-year-old Daughter of Death, Damaris, was born evil. The only way her kind gain access to Heaven is to steal human souls and trade them for eternal life. Or so she's been told. But Damaris doesn't buy that and refuses to kill anyone. She's also determined not to let her little sister end up a heartless, soul-stealing murderer like her parents.
The key to saving them both is Chase, a smokin' hot stranger with a penchant for breaking in through her bedroom window. Bent on retrieving his sister's stolen soul from Damaris's family vault at any cost, he offers a trade. He can show her magic that frees captured souls in exchange for her help.
They only have three weeks until her father's Death Day. Twenty-one days to find Chase's sister. Five-hundred hours to free all the souls before her dad hands them over to Death and they are lost forever. Thirty-thousand minutes to save her own sister and prove to her kind that their ancient beliefs are wrong. The clock's ticking, and Damaris is running out of time.
Things are so screwed up. I barely remember how it all happened. Kat says I need to write it down before too much is gone. That it could be important to remember as much as possible. She says it could also help me deal. Not one for ignoring her sage advice, that's what I'm doing. So, here we go.
My little sister has vanished, three people are dead, and I murdered two of them with my bare hands. It doesn't help my conscience any that I killed them to save people I love. Especially because it didn't exactly work. And what scares me most of all is that I have no idea how I can do it, how to control it. It isn't normal for my kind to do what I can do. I know it has something to do with Death touching me.
But wait, that's not right. It started way before any of that. I need to start from the very beginning. I can remember that day okay, so I'll start there and hope it all comes back as I go. It's late morning. Genie is being a pest as usual, and I just realize I am being stalked. . .
The moment I feel I'm being watched is when I'm contemplating the joy of being an only child. I slowly spin the loan crystal vial in my fingers. The silvery-blue soul dances erratically inside like misty water. For the millionth time I whisper an apology to the little soul in its cold, beautiful prison.