Title: DARKENWEAR, INC.: FEATHERS VS. SCALES
Category/Genre: Upper MG fantasy/adventure
Word Count: 46,000
Thirteen-year-old Persephone Stone stumbles across a terrifying secret: DarkenWear Inc., the hottest fashion label on earth, is imprisoning magical creatures from an unknown realm in its superpowered clothing and accessories. Unicorns live in jacket linings. Dragons warm the fingers of gloves. Goblins lurk in the shadowy folds of skirts. And it’s up to Persephone to set them free.
But the arrival of a mysterious storm and a green-and-white-haired boy conjures lost memories and Persephone discovers that the scar on her arm is actually a dragon bite. She’s slowly transforming into a fire-breathing monster. Not good, considering dragons top DW’s list of exotic materials for their upcoming collection.
Persephone must tame her inner dragon, stop production, and expose the fierce, feathery fashionistas for what they are—nasty, no-good harpies—before she and every other enchanted creature are transformed into designer handbags and fabulous pairs of shoes.
The vortex howled around the dilapidated Calvin Coolidge Middle School, throwing crows against the glass and filling the air with feathers. The old panes rattled in their paint-caked frames, drawing Persephone’s attention away from her Edgar Allen Poe project and toward the tall windows of the eighth-grade humanities classroom. The sky turned a ghoulish shade of gray-green and the room shook with the rumble of thunder.
Persephone went back to splattering red paint on her papier-mâché rendering of The Masque of the Red Death, trying to put the storm out of her mind. She felt a twinge and grimaced, rubbing the silvery swirl of scar tissue that peeked out from underneath the top of her arm warmer. Stupid dead skin. First darn feeling in five years, and it’s pain. Spotty memories of the accident drifted in and out of her head until thoughts became spoken words. Storms create lightning. Lightning makes fire. Fire ruins lives. It happened then, and it could happen now. “Storms conjure change.”
“Huh, what did you say?” Kendall turned in his chair, his gaze fixed on Persephone.
She noticed him looking at her bad arm and scowled from underneath her dark razor-edged bangs. “I dare you to stare at it a second longer.”
“Sorry.” He looked down, flashing an awkward smile, and tousled his mop of chestnut hair.
Ignoring Kendall and the tingling pain, she pulled the striped woolen sleeve back up to cover the wound. Even my best friend can’t help himself. Nobody can. I’m hideous.