I’d always been an oddity with my ivory skin, ebony hair, and blood-red lips, but when my father chose a vampyyri—a female descant of the vampires—as his second wife, my appearance became a curse. I wasn’t of the bloodsuckers, but to the outsiders who only knew them through scary tales, I looked like it.
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The alley off Lima’s Jirón de la Union looked like a scene from the past. Shayla spotted the sign in the hodgepodge of others, hand-lettered and sun-bleached: Sellos Únicos. Souvenirs del Alma.
Perfect, she thought.
She angled her phone’s camera to frame the shop’s warped doorway and hit record.
“It’s that time again, isn’t it?” Melba’s smile was in place as always, but today there was a tinge of sadness to it.
Ellis nodded. “Afraid so. Closing Day.” He wore black on the day after Labor Day; he was in mourning, after all. Tourist season at the Sunray Inn had always been his happiest time,
Long ago in China, a boy named Yan ran as fast as he could, squinting against the westward sun as it cast shadows on the mountain path. A cry caught his attention. He looked up, seeing an old man perched on a rock and waving a tin cup.
“I’m thirsty,” the man said. “I cannot reach the stream below.
The best way to stop a museum heist is to get stolen yourself.
In the darkness of the shipping crate, I wait amid packing peanuts and the four-by-six oaken-framed masterpiece that da Vinci painted with his left hand while using his right for a certain other work.
A shaft of light pierces the gloom as a crowbar pries off one of the top slats,
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