Aram sipped black coffee in a café on a street corner, quaint for a metropolitan area. He scanned his mark from a rough wooden chair on a little porch outside. An insurgent patrol, one of a few hundred targets to be obliterated in the same second, drove by.
The missiles were already launched.
“Judith Wong?” Burke slumped. “You think Judith Wong is a Hungarian spy?”
“It makes perfect sense. Think about it!”
“Ok.” Burke made a show of thinking, then went back to looking weary. “There. Thought about it. It’s still crazy. Judith Wong is the most popular actress in the country, everyone’s favorite starlet.
Phenny’s sense of humor pushes Detective Billings to the edge, and only a surprising intervention keeps the situation from escalating out of control.
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I’m a writer who loves data. Charts, graphs, numbers. Spreadsheets. The running joke around Havok is that I’m the Google Forms queen. I’m the organizational cog of our three-headed Cerberus braintrust. And today, I thought I’d share some interesting tidbits we’ve picked up from our first quarter of Havok’s rebirth. What does a phoenix look
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This close to a master bloodfencer, the crude piece of metal in my earlobe burned like hell. I itched to take it out, but it was all that guaranteed my sanity.
Sweat slicked the grip of my hydropistol as I watched Lord Dreadsower, the bloodsucking, self-proclaimed deity of this town, swoop into the alleyway to meet my partner.
My throat is so dry. My tongue so swollen. All I can think of is the great thirst within me. The need to find the one thing which will satisfy my soul—or, what was once my soul before it was stolen from me.
Blood. I need blood. And I need it now.
They are coming.
I process the screech of my alarm, my thoughts already running a thousand miles an hour.
My children are coming. The house is a mess. Sister-In-Law Who Can Do No Wrong Ever will be here with Perfect Daughter. If she sees the mess in this house, our next holiday together will be a bloodbath.
I wake up sweating, with a blinding headache. Every muscle in my body aches, and my eyes burn. I lift my arm to check the scratches, and sure enough, they’re infected. My forearm is a weird shade of red, which oddly matches my nail polish, but the scratch is only two inches in length. I refuse to accept that I will die because of a stupid mistake.
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“Who’s winning?” My girlfriend sat on the arm of my recliner and handed me a drink. She’d also brought one for my partner, Tommy. Pretty gracious, since she hated his guts.
He glanced at the open bottle with unbridled skepticism.
Molly glared at him, snatched it from his hand and took a long gulp.
At Havok, we love stories and the people who write them. What better way to celebrate both than by hearing from our talented authors on what sparked the idea of their stories? It’s like peering into the mind of genius. (You know, that would make for an interesting story…) Without further ado, here is this
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The seventh time I’m reborn, I have long purple hair and a dragon tattoo wrapped around my left hand. Or maybe it’s a lizard. Personally, I prefer dragons. They spit fire, but at least they’re straightforward about it. Unlike sneaky lizards with that tongue thing. I’m not a squeamish girl, but ech.
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