Title: CONDUIT
Genre: Paranormal Romance NA
Word Count: 71,000
Query:
When college senior Jane Lamb dies in a
car crash, she’s offered a second chance at life as a Conduit—a reincarnated
human, with the memories of past lives, contracted to reap souls. The pros: She
gets six lifetimes to prove she’s not a loser. The cons: If she screws up, or
reveals her true identity, her soul will be destroyed.
Now, living as seventeen-year-old Liv
Hartley, she has everything she wants—a new college, a new life, and David, a
new love interest. That is, until Asher Knight, a Conduit several lifetimes
Liv’s senior, steals her first assignment, landing her in hot water with her
afterlife caseworker. In order to redeem herself, Liv must deliver a message to
a demon. In the process, Liv’s life is threatened, and Asher is forced to bind
his soul with hers to protect her. That’s when Liv discovers there’s more to
Asher than his bad boy attitude and movie star looks—and the fact his touch is
a drug Liv craves.
Even though Liv falls hard for David,
she can’t shake the feel of Asher. David is kind, honest, and considerate. He
promises the kind of future Liv could never have with Asher. But when Liv gets
her toughest assignment yet—to reap David’s soul—she must decide whether to
follow through with the contract or risk forever losing her soul…and Asher’s.
First 250:
All the people with near-death experiences
got it wrong. There’s no light at the end of the tunnel. There’s a lobby, like
the entrance to a ritzy hotel, with level upon level of balconies that stretch
on forever.
“Next!” The disembodied voice thunders
from overhead speakers embedded in the walls.
The line, with more twists and turns
than a crowd control line at Disneyland, moves a few inches. I step forward.
The soul in front of me doesn’t. Before I realize what’s happening, I’m
standing in him.
“Sorry.” I step back and shake off the
squishy, Jello-like feel of his energy. That’s when I spot the balding Dean of
Accounting, Professor Burstein, in his penny loafers and plaid sweater vest,
stalking toward me like I’d cheated on a test or taken the last cookie at a
student-faculty mixer.
“Mr. Burstein?” I can’t keep the
surprise, and disgust, from my voice.
On Friday, he’d given a pop-quiz.
Governmental tax law. If he’s dead, I’m guessing a fellow senior retaliated
against his self-aggrandizing soap box speeches and appearance-based grading
pyramid.
“Not exactly, Ms. Lamb. My name is
Marvin. I find it’s easier on transitioning souls when I appear as someone they
recognize.”
I push a lock of frizzy brown hair from
my eyes and stare at his gnarly sweater vest. “You can look like anyone?” My
gaze moves from his stubby, fat fingers to his shock of orange hair. “I can totally
give you a better suggestion.”
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