The moon hung low over Bramblewood, casting silvery light across dew-laced branches. It was quiet. Too quiet.
A hush had settled like a held breath, as if the forest itself was listening. Even the usual nighttime chorus of crickets had fallen silent, replaced by a stillness that pressed against Miriel’s senses. Something was coming.
“Stay away from him, Miriel! He’s a killer! Can’t you smell other people’s blood on him?”
That’s what I tried to say. All that came out was a bunch of barks and growls. I smelled danger. The fur rose on my back, and I tried to warn Miriel to stay away, but I knew she
A Dwarf could never be the Chosen One.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I down my third mug of hot fizzleberry juice in the Questers’ Lodge. My feet ache from my last Quest, and the juice slowly warms my insides.
Outside, trumpets toot a familiar tune. The next Quest Call.
“Boy!”
I groan and pull my sleeping bag over my head. Something pokes me in the back.
“Boy! Why are you sleeping on my porch?”
The raspy voice and insistent poking finally force me back to reality. I sit up and collide with a fluffy, slobbery lump of dog. A wrinkled face gazes
Footsteps creak across the upstairs floorboards, and I crack open an eye. Golden sunlight spills through the oversized bay window and across the fluffy white carpet. My tail wags. It’s my favorite time of day—one we never miss.
The air shimmers.
Miriel’s footsteps are no longer above. She’s sliding into her armchair
Lyra’s greatest desire was to write a story worthy of Miriel Takkenridge.
Three years ago, when Lyra first moved to Bridgewater Falls as an aspiring writer, Miriel took her in. Since then, she had shared the magic in her life with Lyra.
Like the bookshelf that sometimes opened to distant lands. Or the meringue
Cinnamon-scented steam still wafts from my basket of freshly baked muffins. A light breeze ruffles the brunette bangs peeking out of my crimson bandanna. I hope the checkered towel tucked into the wicker will keep the goodies warm for the short walk through the woods to Granny M’s.
A gray figure emerges from the
The air vibrated with a low, ominous hum. Usually, that meant the refrigerator was acting up again, its door rattling just enough to dislodge any unguarded treats—and my cue to position myself for any falling bits of deliciousness. But this hum… This hum was different. It was laced with the subtle snap of
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“Save the world… again?” Miriel stroked the white hair between her faithful St. Bernard’s ears. The hulking brute glanced up at her, rolling his eyes, mouth agape.
Oh, you think you’re too old for this, do you, Matteo? she mindspoke to him.
The cantankerous canine nodded his agreement and lay his chin over his
“Can you get the door, Miriel? Peaches here is a real handful,” Stephanie Brent said to me as she struggled with a little orange tabby. It snarled shrilly and scrabbled at her pink jacket’s collar. Tyler Galaro and his Shetland ponies had already arrived.
We were at Ladbrook Assisted Living—a nice place,
Brava folds her arms and glares at Frana. “Is this necessary?”
Frana scowls. “You aren’t wearing armor to your wedding. I forbid it.”
“I’m a soldier.” Brava glances at the Multiversal Bridal Boutique. Elegant wood paneling, a carved sign that marries electricity and magic. The proprietor’s from a fantasy world, backwards places
“A bowl of stew can’t save the world, sis.”
Miriel Takkenridge slammed a pot on the stove. “How about you leave the world saving to me, Todd?” Frowning, she diced two onions before her eyes had a chance to water. “Unless you’ve been crowned Chosen One in this universe?” Her chopping stilled as she
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