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The Prize
The Prize
The Prize
Ebook28 pages22 minutes

The Prize

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Terrified orphan, Annabel, flees to a steam punk London one step ahead of a man determined to imprison her. 

From deep in her soul Annabel dreams of becoming the world’s greatest magician and alchemist and vows nothing or no one will stop her. 

Will the forces aligned against her destroy her or will she win The Prize she seeks?

LanguageEnglish
Release dateJun 15, 2016
ISBN9781533791863
The Prize
Author

Rita Schulz

Rita lives on the Sunshine Coast in British Columbia with, Russ, her husband, who is also a fiction writer. She has written for years and is an alumnus of the Oregon Writers Network, and the Greater Vancouver Chapter of the Romance Writers of America. Her most recently published stories are Fire in Their Hearts with R.G. Hart from Champagne books, and Ladies of the Jolly Roger and Tales of the Fantastic, from 53rd Street Publishing. Please visit her website at http://www.ritacrossley.com to view her other works.  

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    Book preview

    The Prize - Rita Schulz

    The Prize

    Rita Schulz

    Published by 53rd Street Publishing

    Copyright 2016 Rita Schulz

    All rights reserved

    Cover art © Canstock– prometeu

    Cover designed by R. Edgewood

    Cover design and layout copyright 2016 by 53rd Street Publishing

    53rd Street Publishing

    Head office: Gibsons B.C. Canada

    www.53rdsteetpublishing.com

    This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons living or dead are purely coincidental.

    Dedication

    For Russ

    The Prize

    The fire in the old black woodstove would be going out soon. The smell of dust and rot was everywhere. Soon I would hear Mother call for me to get more wood. It would be easier if I just got it now. Why did I wait?

    It was a cold winter and it seemed Bromley, an outer borough of London, was especially hard hit with snow. My stomach ached with hunger. I can’t remember the last time I had a full meal.

    I drew my limbs close to my body to gain warmth but it didn’t help; I still shivered. The fire was so small it hardly threw any heat into the kitchen. My bare feet were cold; it felt like they were freezing solid to our hard, dirt floor. I pulled my dark gray shawl closer around my shoulders. Getting up, I went outside to bring in a few pieces of precious wood. I would put water on the stovetop to boil. It would be nice to have hot water this morning. Mother would like that.

    I looked toward the cot where Mother lay huddled under the blankets. She hadn’t moved very much last night, and not at all this morning, but at least her coughing had stopped. There were only the two of us; we depended on each other.

    I got up—my arms and legs were

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