by Anna Baldwin (@BookishBaldwin)
YA Fantasy
Agents can request additional materials via our Agent Request Form.
Query
THE RENAISSANCE OF DARK MAGICIANS is a 96,000-word YA dark fantasy novel. A standalone with series potential, it has morally grey characters like Amanda Foody & C. L. Herman’s All of Us Villains and dark vibes like Scott Reintgen’s The Door in the Dark and Naomi Novik’s Scholomance series. It is a contemporary reimagining of the German legend of Faust.
Eighteen-year-old best friends Ludwig Faust and Benjamin Levin will do anything to join the Hyde Society, an elite association for dark magicians, even offer their souls to a demon in an ancient ritual. Ludwig wishes to prove himself to his powerful family, and Benji wants control over his destructive magic after he accidentally killed his parents ten years prior. The Society’s power is the solution to both their problems. After attempting the spell, the two are given invites, but they soon realize the price is more than they bargained for.
To join the Hyde Society, they must survive a set of deadly trials and compete against other powerful magicians. Every step toward admission will take them further from their own humanity, especially since the demon is vying for control over Ludwig’s body, and another ancient evil, the Society’s secret to their success, stalks Benji. Little do they realize they've made themselves the bounty in a deadlier game. Ludwig and Benji are forced to choose between their friendship and the power they were willing to die for.
I am a LGBTQIA+ writer passionate about crafting stories that explore unique voices and experiences. As an active member of SCBWI Chattanooga and the Authors Guild, I connect with a vibrant community of fellow creatives. I have my Bachelor’s degree in English & Literature from the University of Tennessee, and I’m currently pursuing a Master’s in Secondary Education.
I hope you enjoy it and look forward to hearing from you.
First Five Pages
Prologue
Benji
Benji had already died more times than he could count.
There was nothing extraordinary about this death, except it was cold and there were insects in places he never wished to see. Blood congealed in the frosty air, gummy where it calcified against blades of yellowed grass.
“Two hours,” Ludwig said, clicking the timer off. He perched over Benji with the fervor of a hungry crow, a wad of chewing gum wringing between his molars. Even though he’d just killed Benji with a bolt pistol, Ludwig looked like a kid in a candy shop. “Longer than last time.”
Dark magic was heavy in the air, like a stain Benji couldn’t scrub away no matter how hard he tried. As he rose to his feet, his vision blurred, and pressure formed between his ears. His thoughts phased in and out like static through an old ham radio.
“Ben,” Ludwig’s voice echoed from somewhere far away.
Hot liquid dripped down from his ear canal, peppering across his collarbone. Goosebumps burned with a staccato itch up the length of his arms. Benji plugged his fingers into his ears and stared down at the fresh stain of blood on his fingertips.
“Shit.” He smeared the blood away on his sleeve. “I told you this was a bad idea.”
They had wanted to be the very best, but that pursuit felt far away and so long ago. He could remember how it started though—with an obsession, too much alcohol, and a touch of dark magic.
There was a price to pay for greatness.
PART ONE: BLOOD RITE
Chapter One
Ludwig
One Month Before
Some might claim that there were better things to do on a Friday night than dig up his dead grandfather, but Ludwig disagreed. It had been two years of searching, and this would be the last grave he’d ever have to dig.
After following every step of his grandfather’s maddening scavenger hunt, this was the only place left in the search that made sense. Ludwig’s heart thrummed in his chest as grave dirt plumed into the air with every strike of the rust-flecked shovelhead.
The graveyard was a ratty distant plot of land on the edge of the city, not even a blot on the map. All around him, forgotten tombstones peeked out of the grass like broken molars, covered in thick layers of moss and splashes of graffiti. Yet he could feel the energy of the ley-line and the crackle of magic in the atmosphere. Even though it was long forgotten, this place held power.
Perched at the edge of the grave, Benji looked pale, clay-stained hands wringing the hem of his sweater into a muddied-red hue. His regret was so palpable Ludwig expected him to vomit from the stress.
“If you plan to hurl, do it away from me.”
“I’m not going to hurl,” Benji said, nonetheless turning away from Ludwig.
Ludwig’s grandfather, Dietrich Faust, had been a bitter, contemptible old husk of a man. Like the rest of the Faust family, he’d carried a long legacy of what most people would consider deplorable behavior. Everything from illegal chimera experiments to black market swindling and good old-fashioned fraud charges that never made it to court. Even with the notoriety of Faust power, Dietrich had put them all to shame.
Though their closeness didn’t prevent Ludwig from pilfering through his grandfather’s grave, they’d shared the same fascination for things that went bump in the night. While the rest of his family were busy counting blood money, they were in the dirt, digging up the dead and unearthing secrets in places that most people overlooked.
“This is not what I had in mind for my birthday. I had a date, you know,” Benji said, glancing at his phone for the fifth time before it vanished into his back pocket.
“It’s not your birthday yet. Birth week isn’t a thing, and you have exactly…” Ludwig checked his dirty watch. “Two more hours,” he added, struggling to dislodge a large clump of clay. “Also, I did you a favor. I’ve met dogs more complex than Mackenzie Averson.”
“My gratitude is immense.” Benji rolled his eyes. “Do you think he’ll be…?”
“What—moist? Juicy?”
“I was gonna say decomposed, you sick bastard.” Benji laughed.
It had been two years since the old man died, not long enough to fully break down. Ludwig imagined his flesh to be like wet leaf litter moldering in a pile—horrible stench, lots of bugs. “If you’re going to complain, you can go if you want.”
Benji paused, mulling over the offer. “No, I’m fine.”
It was the last chance he’d get. The shovel thudded against the coffin lid. Ludwig looked up at Benji, unable to hide the wickedness from his smile. “Bingo.”
“Do we really need this book?” Benji asked. “Can’t we find something else?”
“Faust grimoires aren’t available in the public library, Levin.” His mother would have given all her children away for the chance to sniff the ink on the parchment. They didn’t need the book, though; they needed a spell within the book. “The season is changing. I’m not waiting another year, and neither are you.” Ludwig pulled at the seam of the casket lid, to no avail. Two years it had taken them to find this scratchy plot of land. Two years they’d spent reading through bloodied notes and obscure hints in Dietrich’s illegible chicken scratch—this had to be it. Despite his irritation, Ludwig wasn’t sure he could keep this scavenger hunt up for much longer, or else he’d also go batty and leap off a building.
With another strike of the shovel, the seal to the coffin split, and a rancid smell emerged. Benji stopped asking questions, and his brown skin turned a sickly shade of green. “Okay, nope. I’ve changed my mind.” He scrambled up, violently heaving as he vanished from view.
It was difficult to process the smell exactly; it wasn’t as harsh as Ludwig had imagined, but it was far from pleasant. The stink had coalesced into the tight space, sticking to the velvet fibers of the coffin interior. The ribbing along the seams had dried out and cracked into puckered fragments.
Despite his prior excitement, Ludwig did the unthinkable; he hesitated.
Without looking in, his hand slipped through the crack and fell over moisture and mold and human tissue. There was definitely a body within, but despite his intimacy with the death, he couldn’t bring himself to look it in the face. It felt more like moving across a sticky mannequin than a human being. Not as moist as he’d been expecting.
This thing had been a man, his grandfather. One of the most powerful magicians in his time, but, despite all his power, he was carrion food.
His fingers brushed against dried leather and brittle paper.
Slowly, he extracted the book.
“Finally,” he whispered, assessing it. The spine was intact, and silvery lines of mold threaded the cover. The embossed F on the front was barely legible after the veneer had peeled away. Ludwig pressed his thumb to the withered edges, strumming the pages until he could peek at the ancient spells hidden within.
It was perfect.
His heels slid against loose soil as he tucked the book into his backpack. He reached for the shovel as the lid of the casket shuttered close. A plume of dirt and corpse smell clouded in the air, choking him.
The casket—excavated and distressed of its slumber—was simply a cocoon of human ruin and squandered potential now. His grandfather had died younger than intended, twisted by madness. Ludwig had longed to be like him his entire life, but Dietrich’s power had ultimately meant nothing in the end.
What a waste.
Ludwig pressed the tip of the shovel into the clay, and again, he hesitated.
Coward. He could hear the old man’s voice in his head, dry and raspy as sandpaper. The pungent feeling of disdain that flooded him felt like something only a Faust could inflict. As if his grandfather was reaching from the veil to grip him by the throat.
Fausts never flinched in the face of death.