Word Count: 65,000
Sixteen-year-old Junie J. Wilshire’s got advice for witches everywhere--when casting love spells on hot, powerful guys, it’s best to make sure they actually fall in love with you.
Junie thinks she’s the second-coming of Miley Cyrus: gangsta-wannabe, non-conforming, finger-to-the-air-girl. What she doesn't know is she’s actually Earth’s reincarnation of a great witch from another realm. A thousand years ago, the witch poisoned 25 sorcerers with a potion that captured every romantic quirk of love in its liquid: history, commitment, intimacy, soul bindings, and last but not least, duration--forever. Like blood vessels connected to one heart, the men’s immortality depends on the survival of their love, the witch.
But there’s a slight complication: men HATE being forced into commitment, especially those who were once legendary sorcerers, and when the curse lifts after a thousand years, they want revenge for the trickery and spell. Before the immortals could shake the curse, the witch is sixteen years reincarnated, and Junie Wilshire is their new (and improved!) soul-mate.
With minions, bangs, booms and wizardry, the immortals come to the hilly cornfields of the Midwest for vengeance, terrorizing her school’s nemesis, vandalizing her apartment, threatening her hippie parents and framing her for murder of America’s finest police officers. Junie’s got to figure out how to break the curse, and fast. She got to drop the mean-girl act and get real, protect her friends and frienemies or bring her immortal soulmates down with her.
Love to the 25th Power is complete at 65,000 words. It should appeal to fans of Karen Moning’s Fever/Iced series.
After my sixteenth birthday, I learned three life lessons: 1.) Buckle your seatbelt. 2.) Karma sucks. 3.) I am NOT adopted.
Don’t get me wrong: my parents did an outstanding job raising a stubborn, aggravating, whimsical little girl from teeny to teens. I had a happy life with my family, and by ‘happy’, I mean no one was trying to kill me. Especially not my boyfriends.
“Junie J. Wilshire. Sex: Female. Height; 5’3.” Joe stopped reading my newly acquired driver’s license to give me the once over.
Joe was my best friend since middle-school. He wore glasses, sweaters, and his eyes shone like diamonds in a tunnel. He was African-American and had rich dark brown skin and a heart-shaped nose. When I was away from him, I would get all doe-eyed and sissy. If I were around him though, he’d just annoy me, like he did now. My relationship with Joe comes with rules: 1.) he is not my second father. 2.) I would never admit how cute he is. 3.) Friends don’t like each other.
He put his hand to the top of his forehead as if saluting, and then waved it over the top of my head. “About right.” Joe was a couple of inches taller than me, emphasis on ‘couple’; he preened like he was as a tall as a professional basketball player. “Birthday today. Weight…” He paused, eyebrows lifting.I batted my eyes at him. At the DMV, the clerks had asked me to guesstimate my weight. I guesstimated well, if I say so myself.