Barrett glanced around the near-empty café. She couldn’t just leave her position! The lunch crowd would be pouring in any second now. She wasn’t the kind of person that just closed up shop at a child’s request. And yet… There was something about the
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Dan McKnight knew what his next customer wanted: strawberries, her favorite fruit. The familiar woman stood before him, wrapped in a scarlet cloak as though she’d stepped out of a pre-Raphaelite painting.
“Hi, Cathy. I’ve picked a punnet just for you.” He lifted
Heart thrilling with discovery, Sweetsage bounded through the vibrant forest. She crashed through a hovering coterie of fairies, scattering them. As she dashed through the meadow, rabbits jumped and darted. Behind the cottage, she found Papa chopping kindling.
“I found a dragon egg!”
“A pinch of mint, a sprinkle of red clover. Three drops of deep golden honey, and the sun-kissed petals of a yellow daisy. The peel of an orange, an azure feather of a bluebird, and…” I gave the cauldron contents a slow stir.
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The crone’s home lies deep within the forest, so covered in moss and vines that I almost miss it. The old woman sits on a stool by her front door, hunched over a massive tome, running her fingers across lines of text.
I adjust
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Twilight falls, and shadows hang heavily over me.
I snuggle deeper into my red cloak, tighten my grip on my basket of treats, and continue down the tangled path.
Darkness deepens with each step.
What I thought was a tree’s shadow moves
“Ain’t afraid of heights, are ya?” Viv peered down from the top stair.
Whit shook his head, trying to catch his breath from the steep climb. The old woman wasn’t even winded.
He grabbed the handrail as Viv’s dog, Trooper, bounded
Naria sighed heavily and gathered her auburn hair into a ponytail. How had she been accepted into the most prestigious artistry battle-mage academy in the realm?
“Focus, recruits,” General Peters demanded as he stalked between rows of easels. His voice echoed
A man in a suit dropped a bottle cap on my table at the back of the soda shop. I flipped it over. It had a white dot painted inside. He knew my code, which meant he was part of the underground crime system, but
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Detective Conan adjusted his fedora and surveyed the broken glass scattered throughout the flowerbed. At some point last night, an intruder had broken into the Westfield home through this window… supposedly. Nothing had been taken, and the couple living there hadn’t seen anyone.
Conan breathed in through his nose, sorting the area’s scrambled scents.
Fern pressed a wrinkled finger against each of the tiny shamrocks embedded in the mossy roof. “I used to love playing leprechauns,” she mused, turning the miniature clover-colored house in her stiff hands. “Guess you’re not so magical after all.”
Peering inside
The cry sends a chill through me, as it does every time I hear it. It always arrives at the height of summer, yet I pray this is the cycle it will not come.
But it does. It always does.
I take out the muting silk and put it in my ears and those of my beautiful daughters.
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