I’d been studying the atmosphere for years now. Years. All in the hopes of establishing the data to corroborate the impossible.
But I should explain, I suppose. Over forty years ago, I was born under a perfect dragon storm. According to the experts, that happens only once every hundred years. But I knew it happened more often than that.
King Falton stared at his empty banqueting hall. This would be his third midwinter feast since taking the throne. The first had been subdued in honor of his beloved father’s death. The second had been a debacle. Falton’s parents had him late in life, therefore, at the time of his father’s passing,
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“Mr. Everhart, you’re daydreaming again.” Mrs. Crandle taps the screen at the front of the room, her finger poised like a knife, ready to slice through what’s left of my dignity.
At that moment, the heavens smile. “Mrs. Crandle,” Principal Owens’ voice booms through the intercom. “Daniel Everhart is needed in the office.
Lance sat his lanky self on a stool at the end of the outdoor bar and watched the Cadillac parked at the end of the deserted beach. A September breeze pushed off the lake and chilled the air. Perched on the car’s hood, Myrna flirted with one of those no-good Bearfoot boys.
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I wound my way through octahedron-shaped tables occupied by a variety of alien species and approached the only other human in the bar. “Fancy meeting you here, Flynn.”
As soon as his hazel eyes rested on me, I wished I’d dressed cuter than corporate casual. And taken more care with my hair and makeup.
The king sits on a throne of broken bones and watches the girl cross the desert, carrying his death with her.
The air burns Jana’s throat when she inhales, heat wicking the moisture from her mouth. She has walked for an hour, two hours—impossible to tell exactly—with the sun a white, unmoving eye in the bleached sky. The mountain looms over her now, a black mass blotting out the horizon.
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She stood before the back alley wall. Chalk and marker, spray paint and ink splattered the bricks, but all she saw was blood. The entire wall oozed it, out of the alley, down the street, and through the capital city. And she could not do a single thing about it.
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Melvin pulled two ties from his closet and held them up in front of the mirror. He’d been single for so long, it was hard to believe he’d connected with Sophie as well as he had.
“Lexi, search restaurants near me.”
The beauty of a Wednesday night date was that last minute reservations were possible.
Bombs fell.
Comtrak dove for cover, barely in time. Tiran disintegrated into pink mist. The blood sprayed on Comtrak’s fur. As he crawled toward where his brother had stood, his ears rang with the sound of the blasts and gunfire. Another mortar exploded next to him.
Holding my dress up so I wouldn’t trip, I dashed toward the door. I could already hear the bridal anthem. Of course, Samara Spade would be late for her own wedding. But the church kept slipping farther and farther away.
I woke up and groaned.
I shut to door to the conference room behind us. “Sir, please calm down.”
“I’ll calm down when I get some answers.” Mr. Buxton rounded on me. “My boy went missing for more than twenty-four hours and no one can tell me where he was or what happened to him.”
Roy pulled the cover back and took a long look at Charlene. His heart pounded as he slid his hand along her backside. He figured she had rested long enough. “Wanna go for a spin, baby?”
Charlene was in pristine condition, with all original parts, right down to her factory color—hugger orange with twin white rally stripes. She was his dream car—a 1969 Camaro Z/28.
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