Ahh, the month of love. Roses, hearts, cherubs– And cherries? Um, no, Ling. What have cherries got to do with romance? Phenny, around here February is the month of red, not romance. Ohhhhh, that’s right. In that case, cherries are just fine. And quite tasty. Editors’ Picks Mystery Monday “The Wolf at the Door” (Beka
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These stories ran the gauntlet of submission, voting, and the scrutiny of Havok’s savvy anthology selection judges. Emerging triumphant and sizzling with promise, they will be included our Season Four: Sensational anthology. Without further ado, here are the WINNERS of the Havok Season Four: Sensational contest! JULY Color by Hannah Robinson Vesper, Shadow Queen of
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I settled into the cockpit, pulling my bomber jacket tighter. In spite of briskly efficient warming plates, the megabot’s interior always retained some of that perpetual Antarctic chill. The mech was 70 feet of gleaming steel, pure robotic poetry in motion. Sturdy legs held up a hefty, armored pod, and four arms boasted
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Pounding footsteps shook the forest and knocked fiery, autumn leaves from the trees. Gemma pressed against the nearest trunk, the bark’s ridges digging into her bare arms. We found the stone golem.
“Fiske, Korth, you ambush him from the other side.” Uncle Roan spoke just loud enough for her to hear.
Freezing rain slicked the sidewalk and dripped from the remaining bulbs around the dark marquee. I sighed, my breath frosting in the air. Really, an abandoned movie theater? Some people have no sense of subtlety.
I ducked through the broken door, boots crunching on shattered glass, and followed
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Wings aflutter, Elvinia races ahead of me down the crowded thoroughfare. I’m in no rush. Firstly, we’re both here. Secondly, I refuse to break my other wrist and make it a matching set.
It’s Valentine’s Eve, yet sprites of all kinds are already covered in crimson dust, leaving ruby sparkles
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Bahar stared down into the multilayered concourse and slammed her fist against the rails. Where is he?
Spinning around, she ran slap into a man’s chest.
Vrill.
A shudder shook Bahar and she ducked her head and attempted a hasty sidestep. “’Scuse me.”
Vrill grabbed her arm and grinned.
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She’s not coming, says the Wolf. It prowls outside my cottage door, snuffling.
I cower into my blankets. How big is it today? Large enough to blow down the door and swallow me whole in an instant?
I can’t let it in.
It’s Friday, the Wolf continues. She never comes on Fridays.
Havok Story Podcast, Episode 26: “Always the Future” By Patrick M. Fitzgerald
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Mizu rubbed his thumb around the gold edge of the pendant. The pearl in the center shimmered under the lantern light. A gift from Father. His sly smile when he’d handed Mizu the cloth-wrapped present still vivid in his mind.
When he’d unwrapped it, Mizu’d been tongue-tied and stammered a poor excuse for
Maize ran her fingers along the fresh scars trailing her arm as she stared at the king’s latest request. The white suit lay draped across her red-wood weaving desk. Make this suit so that its wearer is immortal, the king’s messenger had told her. Then, perhaps, will you be forgiven.
Strands of afternoon
If it weren’t for the street dog lazing near the curb, Daeng might have caught the songtaew heading north. The red truck teetered to a crawl as passengers leapt from the open back. Daeng lurched forward and stumbled, knocking his tall, cylindrical cargo pack off balance. The songtaew accelerated
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