Crouched in the underbrush, Phezz sniffed the stagnant air. The stench hung like a poison. It even crowded out the musty scent of the old dog behind him.
He clasped the longest of his antler-handled knives, secure in the bandolier around his chest, but ready to fly free at the flick of a paw.
“Get your filthy hide out of here!” The broom came dangerously close to shortening me by a tail. I dove underneath the table, but I still felt the tickle of its straw.
Now, I’m sure you’re wondering why I was getting attacked by someone with a weapon of mass cleaning. It’s kind of a
“I’m serious; I don’t need a bodyguard.” Moxly scowled, arms crossed. He grunted when Brix swung him around to face the entryway mirror.
“Do you see that face?”
Moxly pulled out of Brix’s grasp and made a point of adjusting his tunic. “I’ve seen it many times, dear brother. It’s mine.”
“Yes. It’s yours.”
“Phezznibbet Maplebark, we’re Xintixa. We’re not meant to be heroes.” Tilly folded her front paws across her chest, pushed her pointed nose into the air, and twitched her bushy hazelnut tail.
“Doesn’t mean we can’t contribute,” Phezz argued. “I bet I’m braver than anyone amongst the larger races, despite being a quarter their size.”
At first glance, it looked like just another broken branch—one of many in the forest canopy due to the previous day’s windstorm. However, Phezz noticed it twitching within a tangle of vines in the fork of an ash tree. The Xintixa’s eyes widened. That’s no branch. Too round, too smooth, and there’s straw
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Zaivar Witz studied the mist dealer behind the counter, wondering if the wizened man could actually help him find a new disguise. Harvesting and selling mist from the kingdom’s shrouded mountains required an unmatched madness. But Zai never cared for convention—if it helped him track down his warrants, why question it?
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The Ghost, an infamous young thief recently turned pirate, walked through the bustling cacophony of Cog’s Meridian on market day.
Polite society knew her by a different name, but she was far from polite society today. Far from expectations and inopportune fiancés.
Beside her, Captain Gearlock kept watch on their surroundings with his clockwork
My photograph hung on the bar’s wall.
“WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE”
“$100,000”
Well, at least it didn’t only say dead. And a reasonable amount of money, too. What had I done this time?
Maybe it was the general stores I’d robbed or the people I’d blackmailed for information. With a shrug, I glanced again
A luminous nymph dashes from the darkening woods, leaping barefoot from log to rock. Her silver hair glows, reflecting the light of the two bright moons above. Her pale, web-like dress snags on a branch as she streaks by. A path of blood follows her as she bolts through the brush.
She is no spirit.
The sneeze quivered on Munya’s nose, and she opened her mouth. Mami clamped a hand over both, earning her a fistful of spit and snot.
It wasn’t enough.
The men shouted and came toward them.
“Run!” Her mother sprang from the underbrush and shoved Munya in the opposite direction. She stumbled and looked back.
When I took this bounty, I didn’t think it would be this boring.
During the last five parties hosted by high-ranking officials in this region, rare items had disappeared. As if fading into thin air.
Zaivar stifled another yawn behind his hand.
The hypnotic dancing had almost lulled him to sleep more than once.
“Tell us a story, Gwandpa!”
The old man smiled at the two curly-haired kids, Adley and Bianca, on the floor in front of him, a pipe clasped between his fingers. “What kind of story do you want to hear?”
“Tell us another story
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