Bramble Dinkenspry was very good at fixing things. In fact, her entire family was good at it. But when you’re a brownie, you expect nothing less.
“Bram! It’s time!”
Bramble nearly dropped the stopwatch in her nimble fingers. She’d been listening to the gears as they whispered secrets of the device’s inner workings.
“Behold!”
The ringmaster’s bellow startled me into sitting up so fast I slammed into the calliope I was fixing. With a moan, I squirmed out from under it.
Mr. Trent brandished a contraption that looked like a bicycle snapped in half. “Behold the latest invention, the unicycle! Its rider will save Trent’s Traveling Circus.”
The air smells like history, old paint, and other cats.
Your stomach flips as you look around the basement, the human who carried you down already retreating back upstairs. Cats of varying breeds mill about, lounge atop antique pipes, and nap in the crumbling nooks and crannies of the hall, a patchwork of…
Whoever imagined living on a cloud would be comfortable is an idiot.
Now, obviously, I don’t mean a real cloud. Those are just water droplets suspended in the atmosphere. No. I mean the type of cloud children envision: big fluffy cotton balls where naked babies sporting soft, feathery wings hang out and play the harp.
“Help!”
The voice is desperate. Wild. It cuts through the screaming winds and lashing sheets of rain that pound you and the earth. You lift your lantern, peering into the blackness as you attempt to steady your pounding heart.
You see naught but the driven rain at first; even the ground is murky…
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