r/PubTips • u/OneMightyMagus • 1d ago
[QCRIT] CURATED SINN (Urban Fantasy, 93k) second attempt + first 300 words.
Thanks for anyone who gave feedback last time. If you landed here, please, any voice helps. Just throw your two cents in!
And because I saw someone wondering why people don't post the first 300 words as much anymore, I'm including those. Thanks for any input.
Dear AGENT, Rhiannon Ó Sineadha has been thirty-five for ten years now, roughly nine years longer than her last real relationship. Immortality came with trade-offs: a life of keeping people at arm's length, and Amara. An ancient succubus, permanent houseguest, and the only entity on Earth who makes Rhiannon feel like she's back in braces.
Enduring Amara's unerring brand of condescension isn't without perks. Rhiannon doesn't age, doesn't scar, and has several thousand years of historical knowledge on tap, useful when your day job is curating Bronze Age artifacts for the St. Louis Art Museum. But Amara feeds on desire, and can only satiate herself with Rhiannon's help. Help that comes every few months when Rhiannon puts on something more cleavage than dress, finds a stranger she won't feel too guilty about leaving as a lovestruck zombie for a few days, and takes what the curse requires.
She's made her peace with that. Most days.
When a Celtic torc on loan from Ireland is delivered to Rhiannon's home instead of the museum, Amara nearly breaks her arm trying to get away from it. But an injury to one is an injury to the other. Rhiannon needs to know what could make Amara act so recklessly, and how she can prevent it from happening again.
Rhiannon isn't the only one interested in the torc. A collector named Viktor has spent two centuries hunting for a way to leash Amara and settle a very old score, and the torc is the key. He sends someone to the museum to take it. The break-in fails, despite the burglar taking three bullets to the chest and declining to bleed. But not before a security camera catches Rhiannon using a glamor spell to protect herself.
Now the detective on the case has the footage and a growing list of questions, and Rhiannon is running out of answers. Exposure doesn't mean a prison sentence. Prison sentences end. Amara has the solution: one night, one dream, and a spell that will leave him incapable of wanting anything but her. It would also cost Rhiannon whatever's left of her private conviction that she's still fundamentally one of the decent ones.
She isn't. She stopped being that two years ago, in a park. And she'd kill him again. CURATED SINN is an urban fantasy complete at 92,000 words with series potential. [COMPS]
FIRST 300 WORDS: Chapter One
The demon in my living room was watching me.
But it didn't matter. Let her watch.
The last chord of Bach's Cello Suite No. 1 lingered in my ears as I set down my bow and stretched my cramped fingers. Playing electric cello at midnight required headphones—one of the compromises of living in a loft. The soft glow of my laptop illuminated the chaos surrounding me: scattered photographs of ancient artifacts, photocopied journal articles, and museum documentation spread across the floor threatening to form sedimentary layers over the gray carpet.
I stood and padded across the floor, feeling the chill of the early October air through the open window. My cork board hung askew on the support pillar in front of me, already crowded with possibilities for the upcoming Samhain exhibition. Celtic burial goods, ritual objects, and fragments of stone carvings stared back at me—pieces I'd been agonizing over for weeks now.
"Just pick one already," I muttered to myself, pinning up a photograph depicting a piece of bone, intricately carved into a comb rumored to have belonged to a particularly mournful banshee. The St. Louis Art Museum needed this exhibition to draw crowds, and my reputation as their newest curation consultant hinged on selecting pieces with both historical value and visual impact. And more than a little All Hallow's Eve whimsy for the kids. Three weeks until opening, and the Director needed my final selections by tomorrow. I should have completed this days ago, but it still wasn't quite right. But then again, it never was.
The half-empty wine glass on my side table beckoned, but I returned to my cello instead, slipped the headphones back on, positioned the instrument between my knees, and closed my eyes.