Dorian staggered as he dropped unceremoniously from the portal. With one hand, he clutched at the strap of the leather portrait tube slung on his back, ensuring that its precious cargo survived the trip. With his other, he gripped the scroll containing the spell that brought him to this place.
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No one in New York paid attention. He liked that.
He also particularly relished this post-rain sunshine.
Taking a deep breath, Dorian started toward the waterfront. This was his ideal way to start the day. It had been for a century.
Immigrating to New York had been his best move.
The museum director faced the crowd. “Everyone, raise a glass for this evening’s brilliant artist. To Helen!”
“Helen!” Voices thundered in unison as afficionados lifted their wine goblets, then sipped the crimson nectar.
Helen drank in the praise, her gaze focused on the lone glass that remained lifted. The vessel lowered, revealing the frank blue eyes of its beholder.
Richard Mohr stood outside his sister’s room for a full minute, eyes shut tight, not wanting to enter. Then, taking a deep breath, he plunged in.
“You’re late, you little stink.”
Kimberly-Anne’s eyes were somehow sharper than her words: a scowling blue, like chips cleaved off a glacier.
“Five minutes.”
At first, Dorian Gray found it intoxicating, being the eternally youthful, dashingly handsome hockey star. Fans mobbed him after games, eager for his autograph.
Competitors who slammed him into the boards, only to see him jump up unscathed, didn’t understand how he did it.
“Oh, good, I caught up to you! I was afraid I’d be too late. No, please don’t go—that door is always locked anyway, so you can’t get out that way unless you find someone with the right tune key. And there was something I wanted to talk to you about.”
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Harmony often found her name ironic.
Peaceful moments spent strumming her ukelele or holding a fluffy, sleeping animal formed only a fraction of her days. The rest was a hodge-podge of chaotic attempts to keep up with her ever-forgotten to-do list, budget for food and rent, and chase down magical varmints that would rather
Eric pushed through the underbrush, cursing the strange echo effect in the valley. He could hear the faint strains of the ukulele, but locating the sound was nearly impossible. “I’m probably going in circles,” he groused.
As he stepped over a spindly creek, a large shadow blocked out the filtered sunlight.
They said when the lights grow bright in the north sky, the great wolves are on the hunt. Tonight, the Naka were only a faint stroke of green across the blackness above. I watched them, the cold breeze a welcome relief from the stuffy dugout I’d been sheltered in. I hummed my song softly
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“And so the rumors of kelpies remain to this day. Now please, enjoy the concert, and remember, swimming in the loch is strictly forbidden.” The guide smiled as she finished her tour, and the group dispersed. Harmony meandered after the tourists, taking in the heather-covered hills. beside the loch.
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“Lost, Goldilocks?”
I stand, brushing dirt from the knees of my green corduroys as I beam at the fox standing nearby. “Nice guess, friend! My name’s Harmony. Harmony Star. And I’m not lost. I only stopped to help a three-legged turtle safely cross the path on my way to…to…”
Where am I going again?
“Enjoy your familiar!” Harmony smiled and waved goodbye to her latest customer. The gap-toothed girl grinned and waved back, towing a harried-looking cockatrice behind her.
They sure start mage school young these days.
Harmony put her hands on her hips and turned to her own familiar, an orange tabby perched on the store counter.
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