Title: EYRE HOUSE
Genre: YA Gothic
Word Count: 62,000
Eyre House is a YA gothic mystery that recasts Jane Eyre in a sleepy southern island town, but keeps all the ghost stories.
All seventeen-year-old Evan Richardson wants out of his summer is an escape from the foster system that’s run his life, and an early release from the last in a line of families that don't care. A summer job at Eyre House, on sleepy Edisto Island, SC, seems like the perfect solution. But the plantation-turned-bed-and-breakfast has a lot more to offer than freedom and employment. The island is full of ghost stories, and Eyre House seems to have more than its fair share of secret passages and things that go bump in the night. The tough part is telling what's ghost and what's story.
Ginny, whose family has owned Eyre House since before the Civil War, seems like the perfect person to help him figure it out. She’s sexy, confident...and, as the owner's daughter, completely off limits. Except that Ginny doesn't take no for an answer. She's way more interested in distracting Evan than in ghost hunting, especially when he starts uncovering ghosts of her own. Still, Ginny is hard to resist - and Evan's not sure he really wants to. Even waking up to find his bed on fire isn’t enough of a deterrent, especially after she saves him. But when he wakes in the night to the sound of his motorcycle jacket being shredded, Evan knows the ghosts must be after him. He’s also pretty sure Ginny’s hiding something behind those honey-gold eyes.
Unfortunately, Ginny’s ghosts are growing more and more unruly. When one of the Eyre House guests is shoved down the stairs, and her ex-boyfriend is found dead in the pool, Evan knows he’s got two choices: figure out what’s going on, or become the next ghost to haunt Ginny Eyre.
The blasting staccato of rain against my helmet didn’t quite drown out the deep rumble of my bike’s engine. Lightning highlighted the rural road ahead of me, and the marshes that surrounded it. It was hard to believe it wasn’t even six yet. The clouds rolling up the coast were dark as hell. Even with the right gear, I was cold, wet, and tired. I swore under my breath for about the millionth time since leaving Charleston.
I had wanted to leave early, make Eyre House by midafternoon. The Gages had never hidden how little they cared about me, but they sure as hell had done their best to keep me from leaving today. They’d delayed me until just before the storm hit, leaving me to make the hour ride in torrential rain.
Personally, I suspected the loss of my foster payment was to blame. Fucking assholes.
So much for arriving early to make a good impression. Instead, I’d be lucky to get there before dinner, and all bets for being presentable were off. I urged my bike faster and swore under my breath again. At least the road was empty. Seemed I was the only one stupid enough to be out in this weather.
Lightning cut the sky again, and my headlight glinted off a sign that announced the start of the McKinley Washington, Jr. Bridge. Once I crossed the mile long stretch of concrete, I’d officially be on Edisto Island. I’d be free. No more foster families, no more foster system.