Shut up, he told himself, albeit to no avail.
Zaivar slouched into his favorite diner booth, trying to keep his thoughts muted. This was an unwelcome challenge for someone used to reading other people’s minds. The waitress approached, and before he even registered it was happening, he thought, Her perfume is like being punched
I fell to my knees and stared at the hard tile beneath me. The man behind me released my wrists, and my arms dropped to my sides.
“Thank you for finding her, Zaivar,” a low voice said in front of me.
I glanced at the ticking wall clock. 1:16 a.m. It took him only
Zaivar Witz studied the mist dealer behind the counter, wondering if the wizened man could actually help him find a new disguise. Harvesting and selling mist from the kingdom’s shrouded mountains required an unmatched madness. But Zai never cared for convention—if it helped him track down his warrants, why question it?
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Havok’s co-founder and marketing director, Teddi Deppner, interviews author Deborah Bainbridge about her writing journey and her experience with the Multiversal season themes.
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The Ghost, an infamous young thief recently turned pirate, walked through the bustling cacophony of Cog’s Meridian on market day.
Polite society knew her by a different name, but she was far from polite society today. Far from expectations and inopportune fiancés.
Beside her, Captain Gearlock kept watch on their surroundings with his clockwork
Zai looked at crowds below his dingy second-story window, factory workers heading home after timebells sounded the day’s closing. Though his window faced west, the tall buildings across the road rarely let a ray of sun into the small living space.
He sighed and turned from the window. Work had been slow over the
Zai Witz gritted his teeth, bracing himself for the worst as the gray-haired, grim-faced Dr. Fox completed the exam.
“Mr. Witz, you have a third-degree… stubbed toe.” The doctor rolled her eyes. “March yourself out of my emergency department. This is the fourth time I’ve seen you this week over nothing.”
Witz winced.
“Name?” I ask.
“Zai Witz.”
“With a Z?”
“With two Zs!”
I rub the cheap pencil eraser against my clipboard, then write in the Z I’d missed. The S is still faintly visible, but I’m guessing this paper will go in the wastebasket anyway.
“And, where did you say you were from again?”
My photograph hung on the bar’s wall.
“WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE”
“$100,000”
Well, at least it didn’t only say dead. And a reasonable amount of money, too. What had I done this time?
Maybe it was the general stores I’d robbed or the people I’d blackmailed for information. With a shrug, I glanced again
A luminous nymph dashes from the darkening woods, leaping barefoot from log to rock. Her silver hair glows, reflecting the light of the two bright moons above. Her pale, web-like dress snags on a branch as she streaks by. A path of blood follows her as she bolts through the brush.
She is no spirit.
Zaivar crouched in the shadows of an abandoned factory and strained his bloodvoice for his target’s thoughts.
There.
A flicker of movement caught his eye, and he crept forward. Zai prowled through the decrepit alley with the steady stride of a trained hunter. The warrant turned over in his head as he moved.
“I’ve always wanted to chase down a beautiful space princess!” Zaivar Witz remarked hopefully when the reward for the missing Princess Mira came through on the Interstellar Broadcast Bands.
Two days later, the hope solidified as his chances of nabbing the princess improved. He’d learned what he could about her, which wasn’t much:
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