Gateways, Book I of The Elemental Chronicles

One cruel night, Victoria’s mother painted a final gateway, a painting that leads to other realities. For years the painting hung unobtrusively on the wall, until Victoria falls into it. Slipping right past the oil, through the canvas and into the world her mother painted, Victoria discovers a beautiful land inhabited by sphinx and minotaur. The people there are incredibly gifted, able to communicate with the natural elements: Earth, Water, Air, and Fire.
All the beauty is tainted when Victoria meets Ona, a vengeful leader who discovers that Victoria holds the key to finding the Grandfather’s Weapon, the ultimate device that grants absolute power to the one who can wield it. Victoria must learn the skills of the mage, discover why her mother was guarding the gateway, and protect the Grandfather’s Weapon, or all the worlds in existence will suffer the same fate as Noah’s ancestors.

“Jessica Schaub weaves together mythology and adventure in a brilliant story of friendship. A must-read!” - Liz Konkel for Readers' Favorite

“Schaub succeeds in placing teenagers into a story of mystic powers and magical without her characters losing their modern savvy and their wisecracker-y.” -Chanticleer Book Reviews

"She looked at a tree and knew it wasn’t just a tree but a link between earth and sky, a giant wooden stitch piecing together soil and clouds. That idea stayed with her throughout the day and found its way onto the canvas after school. In her mind, she saw the scene: a vast meadow of knee-high grass with one giant willow tree just off center toward the left. That single tree would be where the birds would land to foil the plans of snakes and foxes lurking in the swaying grass. Leaves danced on the wind, calling the birds of the sky downward to share their stories of sights beyond the clouds.

Near the tree she painted a boulder. To anyone else, it may have been just a rock, but Victoria imagined that it had been rolled there with great effort and a mournful purpose. Etched into the side was a name. No expert had carved the name; they were not artistically gothic-shaped letters. A wife, grieving her loss, had scraped angrily away at the stone, scarring it with her husband’s name, crying because there would be no one left to carve her name.

That’s when it happened again. This time, rubbing her eyes didn’t bring her back.

Victoria had not stopped painting when she found herself standing by the rock; she almost painted the granite surface. She was just suddenly there, standing above his grave holding a paintbrush and noticing his name, Alexander. No last name. No date of birth and no death date; just a token for a life, the rock no longer just a rock, but a tombstone.

Victoria wasn’t hallucinating, she was lost."