The Writer's Voice Entry: EPONINE


GENRE: YA Urban Fantasy, 82k


Seventeen-year-old Eponine “Poni”Thorpe is a magic User with abusive parents, a bad reputation, and an even worse attitude. But she has Mark—her best friend and the only one who sees past all that to the good buried deep within, the good she doesn’t believe is there.

Poni has always had to look out for herself, so she has no problem Using her magic to steal a new pair of jeans or some makeup, anything to make herself look better than Mark’s new girlfriend. So when the leader of the Users is murdered, and a new, corrupt leader takes over, Poni’s first instinct is to save herself. But wannabe-hero Mark won’t listen to her—he’ll fight for what’s right like he always does, even if the fight is impossible.

If Poni runs, she’ll save her skin and finally be rid of her parents, but she’ll lose more than Mark’s friendship—he could get himself killed without her there to protect him. If she stays for the boy she secretly loves, she might lose her own life.

EPONINE, inspired by Victor Hugo’s LES MISERABLES, will appeal to fans of Holly Black’s WHITE CAT.


I’m on my own in the dark, like I’ve always been. I reach out with my energy and the darkness begins to swirl until it coalesces into a ball of light. It’s dim, barely brighter than a candle, because that’s all the energy I have left. Or maybe that’s all the light I can ever produce.

I don’t accept that. I concentrate on the sphere. Search every spare corner of my body for whatever energy I can find. I pour myself into it. My fingers tingle like they’ve been asleep. The ball brightens, gets so big I have to hold it with two hands while my eyes burn. The power rushing through my body is a high no drug can ever give.

“Whoa. That’s quite the orb you’ve got going on there, Thorpe.”

The magic ball disappears, leaving me in the dark where I belong. My body goes cold. There’s a snap and the lights in the gym come on. I blink. Mark Parsons stands in the doorway, his arms braced on either side. My heart quickens automatically and I hate myself for it.

“Thought you went home,” I say, standing. With a groan, I stretch my aching muscles.

“I did, but then I realized I left my history textbook. I’ve gotta finish that paper on the Byzantine Empire.”

Making a face, I grab my backpack from the corner of the gym and head towards Mark. My runners make no sound on the rubber floor. “Wanna write mine while you’re at it?”