Warmth does not come to the peaks as quickly as it does the valley. For though the mountains here remain frozen in winter’s grasp, the basin below my tomb has thawed, and in the valley, flowers bloom. From the summit I watch as thick snow melts and flows into rising streams that feed the invaders’ crops and cattle and greed.
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“Our band of brothers must be the right age,” I told the three men gathered around me in the quiet darkness of my house—dark save for the single candle. We dared not light the lamp on the table between us, nor any lamp at all. “But then, you already know the truth of this.”
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Over the centuries I’ve had brief spells where I’ve considered children adorable. But such misconceptions can be very dangerous. My only excuse, I’d caught a March madness.
“Those are the official rules. Any questions?” I snapped the NBA rulebook closed and stared down at the children. Fourteen wide eyes stared back at me.
“How long has your wife been missing, Mayor Collins?” Kelvin Lockhart asked, leaning forward in the leather guest chair. The move was as much about comfort as it was about being direct. The chair almost swallowed his small, wiry frame.
On the other side of the mahogany desk, Geoff Collins shook his head. “Quite an interesting euphemism.
In Vermont, we call the spring thaw Mud Season, a time of year that gives new meaning to the word battleground, for it’s necessary to battle the ground simply to walk. Either you struggle while the muck sucks at your shoes and even skirts if they aren’t hitched up a bit, or you tumble when it’s too slick, which causes the unwary much irritation.
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Let me tell you the story of a dragon who wanted to be a man.
My name is Eleanor Thornhail, and I’m a worldhopper—long story—and I’d gotten myself stranded on a strange world of magic and dragons.
One dragon in particular was my ticket out. I’d found him hiding among the humans, working as a librarian for the Infinite Library.
To W. Darling: As you requested, below is my recollection of my team’s rescue of A. Liddell & discovery of the Red Queen’s plot to take over Wonderland.
I hope you find everything in order. -B.
The stone manor stretched into a gray March sky. Ivy trailed up the walls and framed the imperial letterwork: Institute for Madwomen.
On March 28, 2075, opening day for the Galactic Professional Baseball League, I had reason to be well satisfied with myself.
Intergalactic Sports Imports, the company I owned with my friend Ruby Trenholme, had just caught up on the delivery schedule for our first big contract: supplying game balls to everyone from the minors to the majors.
You wouldn’t forget the date of your dad’s death any more than you’d forget your own.
January 3, 1962. The worst day of my life. And only two months later, we’re going to Disneyland.
“Swell way to mourn,” I muttered.
Mom flinched like I’d punched her in the gut, but it was my kid sister Susie…
Cherry blossoms drifted like snowflakes over the princess, reminding Sendai of that fateful night. He shook a petal off his helmet. An imperial guard on duty shouldn’t let his thoughts wander. Total vigilance, not sweet distraction.
The prince, on the bough above them, shook down more blossoms. Seventeen winters may have brought the princess an entrancing grace, but her twin still acted the child.
Every spring, the past called Cheroth back to a land that did not want her, compelling her against reason or need. She swept low over the tree line and into full view of the village, beating her wings in the slow rhythm of one trying to suppress hope. A woman caught her shadow and looked up.
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When I opened the Book of Madness, lightning streaked outside the mansion’s window.
Thunder bellowed.
My flashlight illuminated scribblings on the faded pages as I traced my finger along a paragraph, skimming with eyes squinted, mumbling the Latin translation of ancient text. I flipped a page, propping myself against the reading table.
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