by Nefer Doane (@neferdoane)
Adult Cozy Fantasy
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Query
THE WISHING WELL is an 85,000-word adult cozy fantasy about overcoming old prejudices, found family, and belonging. It combines the temperamental artifacts of The Keeper of Magical Things by Julie Leong with the quirky friendships and quiet romance of The Spellshop by Sarah Beth Durst. This is a standalone novel with series potential.
Even among witches, Nori Savens doesn't quite fit into her small island community, where witches and Ordinaries live in peaceful, if separate, harmony. Nori’s dearest wish is to summon her familiar—a gentle creature who can share her magic and her life. But when the Wishing Well opens, the creature who answers isn’t the charming, affectionate companion Nori always dreamed of. Instead, he’s Sebastian, a shadow cat with lopsided whiskers who instantly dislikes her.
Despite his animosity, Nori is determined to accept him—until she discovers he’s stealing antiques from her neighbors, witch and Ordinary alike. As unusual tremors shake the island, she fears this only happened because their fragile, adversarial bond threw aether off-balance. Determined to fix what she broke, Nori concocts a spell to return her familiar back through the Wishing Well so she can return the missing heirlooms before anyone notices they’re missing.
But when an unbonded familiar sneaks into their world, the tremors continue, and worse, the Wishing Well remains open. To close it, Nori and Sebastian—along with the rest of the island—will have to set aside their differences and work together, or a horde of ravenous familiars will break through and destroy their quiet, seaside town.
I am a fantasy writer based in California. As an Asian-American adoptee, my stories focus on what brings us together, rather than what pulls us apart. I hold a BA in Psychology, and this is my first novel.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
First Five Pages
Chapter One
The weekend was always rife with misbehaving antiques. But today, Nori Savens didn’t know which was worse: the angry teapot shooting scalding water straight at her, or its howling owner. Probably a witch visiting from one of the other islands.
“Please help me!” the teapot’s owner shrieked, and a little mouse perched on her shoulder—the witch’s familiar—squeaked. Its long ears hinted at the ability to fly, but it stayed put, loyal and steadfast. “My teapot is angry, and I don’t know why!”
Nori winced. If a witch owned such a fine heirloom, they should at least know that antiques reacted to emotion. The more unsettled, the stronger the reaction. The teapot owner’s hands, red and scalded, were evidence, and her cries were not helping.
Nori covered her ear with one hand, muffling the worst of the high-pitched noise, and scrabbled for work gloves with the other. The customer opened her mouth to release another wail, but Nori stabbed a finger at the sign on the counter.
Ring the bell ONCE for assistance. Please exercise patience lest you upset the antiques. Patrons who incite chaos are responsible for all incurred damages.
The other witch, perhaps a decade older, looked around, wide-eyed, and hiccupped as it dawned on her that they could have another problem on their hands. A much larger problem, given that antiques of every sort lined the shelves.
At first glance, they were arranged in haphazard fashion—vases next to musical instruments and gilded paintings strewn across the walls. In the far corner, a tobacco pipe leaned against a typewriter. But Nori straightened her spine. She was proud of the detailed system she’d created. The system was based on each antique’s temperament and likelihood of getting along with its neighbors. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked. Most of the time.
Hot water from the teapot hit Nori’s collarbone, and she flinched, yanking the gloves up to her elbows, just as a vintage radio trilled to life. It always broadcast at will, no matter how many times she turned its two dials.
“Rise and shine, Wandering Isles! You’re expected to… well, to wander soon, most notably the island of Valere. Keep an eye out for the telltale iridescent sheen, and brace yourselves for movement at any time.” It paused then released a loud squawk, the voice darkening. “There’s a heavy feeling in the air today. We already have one teapot boiling over in fury. Kettles, if you feel mistreated, maybe it’s time to rise up and—”
“Follow me,” Nori said quickly and practically bolted to the back room. The teapot didn’t need encouragement for more bad behavior.
The other witch—Hiccups, Nori decided to call her—sidestepped puddles as they passed buckets of sand sitting under three tall windows overlooking the street. Accidents were rare, but Nori didn’t want a repeat of the time an old kerosene lamp had started a fire, still evidenced by faint scorch marks on the bright blue door. She shuddered and pushed the door open.
Nori set the teapot on the worktable, spelled to contain feral antiques. The thick slab of wood was scorched and scarred with character, just like her little shop, aptly named Nefarious Antiques. She’d opened it three years ago, and thank the stars, because it was the one thing she was actually good at.
“Tell me precisely what happened,” she said. Despite her calm tone, the teapot still burst forward in an angry hop.
Hiccups wrung her hands. “The teapot belonged to my great-great-aunt. It heats and pours water perfectly.” She gulped then rushed on. “As I was preparing our morning tea, same as I always do, it tried to pour hot water on me. Now the crazed thing won’t stop!”
Nori nodded, studying the teapot. Something had upset it, thrown it off-balance. The witch had probably tried a new Senchan tea, one of the bitter ones. Now that she was close enough to see the iron teapot’s finer details, she couldn’t help but whistle in admiration. It was quite old, with a dark brown patina, and an elaborate dragon flowed around its shoulder, stopping near the embellished handle and matching knob.
Despite its beauty, the poor thing practically oozed with misery. As if it sensed her compassion—and loathed her for it—the teapot shot another stream of scalding water straight at her. She leaped to the side, grabbed a leather apron and safety goggles off the door peg, and motioned for Hiccups to stay back.
“Please, please do whatever you can,” Hiccups begged. “I couldn’t bear having to confine the teapot to my cupboard. The teacups would be furious.”
The familiar squeaked comfortingly, and the witch reached up to caress the mouse, a tender yet absentminded gesture speaking of many years together. Her robe had a large pocket sewn into the waist, perfectly sized for the long-eared mouse. Small vials hung from her belt loops, filled with water, seeds, and cheese cubes. Nori’s robe was stark by comparison, with no need to carry a familiar’s belongings.
A quick stab of pain shot through her chest, but this was not the time for longing. Nori turned away, eyes on the teapot.
Aether-imbued antiques were saturated with the personalities of their owners, and the older an object, the more potent its power. She began to trace invisible runes in the air and sing under her breath, a slow, haunting melody that echoed the essence radiating from the teapot. As the poignant notes expanded, a heaviness stole through the shop, weighted and solemn. The shuffling antiques quieted, and Hiccups muffled a hushed cry of sympathy.
Hiccups’s great-great-aunt was long gone, yet remnants of a tragic life washed over Nori. She couldn’t glean all of the past events, but the feeling persisted. Something sorrowful, a life unfulfilled.
It reminded Nori of her mother’s disappearance. A sharp ache seared in her throat, and out of habit, she brushed the jade necklace at her throat. A family heirloom, one of the last items she had of her parents, spelled to help with focus. Its presence was bittersweet, but the charm activated instantly, her mind clearing of distractions.
Nori took a deep breath and sang a little louder. “Old soul grown wild, dragon temper now be mild.”
The song wove through the air, still mirroring the teapot’s sorrow and uncertainty. Then she added a subtle undercurrent of warmth, a nudge in a lighter direction. When the teapot seemed to waver, Nori’s notes shifted to a more hopeful melody as she clutched the jade charm, inwardly reaching for the right words and focused on her intent. To release angst, to provide comfort and safety.
“Seep and whistle, sweet and true,” she crooned. Her own pulse slowed, her shoulders softening. “Abandon your bristling to begin anew.”
Slowly, the teapot came back to itself, with a decrease in angry hopping, until a stream of warm bubbles replaced scalding water. Nori bit her lip, careful to keep her notes steady. The teapot was nearly charmed.
All at once, the floor shifted under her feet, and the antiques wobbled in their stands. Hiccups braced herself in the doorjamb, her familiar squeaking with surprise. Nori grabbed the edge of the worktable.
Valere was moving, just as the vintage radio had predicted. She winced at the timing, but better to happen now than a few minutes ago when the teapot was miserable. She glanced out the window to find an iridescent sheen rising over the treetops and into the sky, like a giant bubble.
After a moment, the shimmer popped, the telltale sign the island was finished moving. Nori’s lungs constricted at the thought, and a tidal wave of yearning slammed into her. By definition, Nori was as much a witch as the woman before her. She had a connection to aether and a natural affinity—adept at charms—but she was missing one thing. Her familiar.
What if Valere had finally moved to the right spot and the Wishing Well opened?
It had been fifteen years since that last happened, and Nori had been too young for a familiar then. But now… She tried to squash her hope she would finally have a familiar, but it infused every crevice of her soul.
It was suddenly hard to breathe.
Distracted, she sang a flat note and was instantly rewarded by another defiant spout. Hot water scalded her skin, drenching her shoulder. Biting back a curse, Nori lifted her voice in renewed song. If she faltered now, the teapot would think it won, and with the slightest encouragement from the vintage radio, it would incite the antiques into full-scale rebellion.