COGLING
Young
Adult Steampunk-Fantasy
Check this out and then find the giveaway below!
Check this out and then find the giveaway below!
When fifteen-year-old Edna
Mather tears an expensive and unfamiliar pocket watch off her little brother's
neck, he crumbles into a pile of cogs right before her eyes. Horrified, Edna
flees for help, but encounters Ike, a thief who attempts to steal the watch
before he realizes what it is: a device to power Coglings—clockwork changelings
left in place of stolen children who have been forced to work in factories.
Desperate to rescue her brother, Edna sets off across the kingdom to the hags' swamp, with Ike in tow. There, they learn Coglings are also replacing nobility so the hags can stage a rebellion and rule over humanity. Edna and Ike must stop the revolt, but the populace believes hags are helpful godmothers and healers. No one wants to believe a lowly servant and a thief, especially when Ike has secrets that label them both as traitors.
Together, Edna and Ike must make the kingdom trust them or stop the hags themselves, even if Ike is forced to embrace his dark heritage and Edna must surrender her family.
Desperate to rescue her brother, Edna sets off across the kingdom to the hags' swamp, with Ike in tow. There, they learn Coglings are also replacing nobility so the hags can stage a rebellion and rule over humanity. Edna and Ike must stop the revolt, but the populace believes hags are helpful godmothers and healers. No one wants to believe a lowly servant and a thief, especially when Ike has secrets that label them both as traitors.
Together, Edna and Ike must make the kingdom trust them or stop the hags themselves, even if Ike is forced to embrace his dark heritage and Edna must surrender her family.
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Excerpt:
Green
smoke snaked up the side of the tenement and drifted over the sill of an open
window. A breeze blew the vapor into a column before it solidified into the
shape of a stout, young hag. She shook her crimson curls away from her face and
straightened the hood of her cloak to keep her kohl-lined, silver eyes
shadowed.
The
scent of lavender clung to her robes, washing over the small room. Two
brass-framed beds crowded the floor. Blankets covered sleeping children. A
little boy wheezed against the head of his stuffed bear, drool dripping onto
the wool.
The hag
squinted to see the goldenrod dream cloud above his head—a dream about seeing
his father again. She frowned at the other bed, where a sleeping teenager lay
with a threadbare blanket tugged around her chin. Even squinting, the hag
couldn’t make out a dream cloud. The girl was too old to be of any use.
The hag
slithered to the boy’s bed and, from the folds of her cloak, drew out a
rectangular box four inches long, with a circular indentation on one side. She
set it on the floor to remove a vial and rag from her skirt pocket, the rough
wool of the rag irritating her fingertips.
“Do it,
Simone,” the hag muttered to herself as she willed her hands not to tremble. “Make
the Dark Mother happy.” She couldn’t fail at her first mission.
Holding
her breath, Simone dribbled three drops onto the rag, yanked the teddy bear
away, and shoved the drugged cloth against the boy’s mouth. His eyes opened,
his gasp muffled, and his body jerked. Simone stiffened.
The girl
moaned. Her mattress rustled as she rolled over to face the wall, brown curls
shifting over her pillow.
Simone’s
heart thudded. By the seven Saints, she should’ve cast a sleeping spell over
the girl. The Dark Mother preferred humans to think hags were harmless healers,
not thieves who kidnapped children.
The boy
writhed, squeaks emerging from behind the rag. Simone pressed harder. She
needed his breath in the wool to disguise and fuel the machine.
The
potion took hold and the boy collapsed. Simone’s thick lips curved over her
broken teeth. She lifted a pocket watch from around her neck and positioned it
into the crevice in the metal box. As the two pieces connected, a chime rang
out. She set the box beside the limp little boy and draped the rag over it. Even
though she should wait to make sure his breath stuck in the machine, she
couldn’t risk waking the girl.
The
metal stretched to become his replica as if it were made of putty. With a
second chime, the metal shimmered and dulled into the pale peach of his flesh,
becoming an exact duplicate of the child.
“Mine.” Simone
hefted the little boy into her arms, leaving the duplication on the bed, and transformed
to smoke before the chimes awoke the girl.
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About the Author
Jordan Elizabeth, formally
Jordan Elizabeth Mierek, writes down her nightmares in order to live her
dreams. She is the author of ESCAPE FROM WITCHWOOD HOLLOW, TREASURE DARKLY, and
BORN OF TREASURE. Check out her website, JordanElizabethMierek.com, for more
information on her books, contests, and bonus short stories.
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