It was 10:30 p.m. on December 18, and I was desperate.
Sleep had grown more and more elusive as I aged. In my teenage years, I often dropped into dreamland as soon as my head hit the pillow. These days, I tossed and turned while the
Being chased sucks.
Why did I believe my parents when they said we’d be safe in the woods?
“Zombies don’t go way out there,” Dad assured me.
“And it’ll be nice to get away from the madness,” Mom added.
Yeah, well, now they’re zombified just like
The wind whipped against the door to Luna’s enclosure. She sighed and snuggled deeper into her cozy bed of straw.
“Good morning, Luna.” A gangly keeper in khaki pants and a green Zoo polo peered at her through the bars. “It’s a beautiful
Ziff pushed open the squeaky doors to The Crooner’s Saloon and took a cautious step inside. A goblin hunched over the keys on an old piano, pounding out a medley filled with far too many flat notes. Two she-elves stood on stage, both dolled up in an overabundance of petticoats and ruffles,
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Frank the Pig Detective shuffled papers on his desk while his brother Bob studied the bookcase.
Wonder what kind of mood Bob’s in today?
Frank adjusted a paper that didn’t really need adjusting, and sighed. Before the Big Bad Wolf fiasco, he, Bob,
“S.A. meets here tonight.” The crinkled, handwritten sign hung askew on the door. Lucy tapped the edge of the paper, and it instantly righted itself.
As Lucy tugged the handsewn mask over her face, a loose thread dangled in front of one eye. She slipped it under
Roger struggled inside the sack, his head aching from the after-effects of the day’s overindulgence at the Tavern. When he’d agreed to a game of chance with an ogre, this was not what he’d envisioned.
The bag allowed in minimal light, and when he pressed
Maisie swings her feet on the faded green bench as she waits for the school bus to arrive. She tries to focus on the birds singing, instead of on her heart thumping in her chest.
“You’ll rule middle school,” she tells herself as a yawn escapes her. Maisie wipes sweaty palms on her skirt
Janitor. Maid. Hygienic maintenance specialist. All these job descriptions were technically accurate. But none of them alluded to the truly unique skillset required to be a member of the staff cleaning crew at C.A.P.E Quarters—that is, the headquarters of the Crimefighting Association of Powered Entities.
She was Dee Dalsey … The Cleaning Lady.
I staggered into the kitchen, pulling on the white-grey shirt of my superhero suit and accidentally jamming my toe against a chair. “Ouch!”
Behold, the mighty hero Shields, sans coffee.
With the shirt on properly—never mind, it’s on backward—I jabbed a button on the coffee maker. Gurgle, gurgle.
“528 Cactus, this is Quik-Warp fueling station, what is your routing number?” a monotone voice buzzed over the coms.
Tabytha cruised toward the little station, steering with her knees as she pinned back the sides of her awkward not-quite-pixie hair before flipping
Zoot pulled the brim of his pilfered bucket hat down to hide his scaled skin and amphibious features. The overcoat he’d procured hid his olive-green flight suit. Thankfully, the black tentacles running down the back of his head imitated the hair of the native creatures, but his disguise was hardly complete.
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