Grandma always told me not to go into the forest alone. “Deep in the woods, where the trees are old as time, færies make their dwellings,” she would say. “And if you aren’t careful, they’ll snatch you and gobble you up!” That part always made me giggle when I was a kid.
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I have never lived through a wilder time than the summer when the guys of Mount Rushmore—George, Abe, Tommy, and Teddy—decided to form a boy band. I worked in the visitor center, and as far as any of us knew, the boys had never heard pop music. Yet one night Abe started belting out
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I first consider a 1600s castle but prefer something more thrilling.
I leave the grand castle painting and wander through the antique store, one of the few places where I can truly be myself—free and unwatched.
What would it be like if I did this with a friend? I wonder. But no one
Hendria looked around the corner, waiting for the guards to pass around the temple wall. She took a breath, then counted to ten. She’d executed everything perfectly up to this moment; now all those months of meticulous planning seemed to be paying off. She’d memorized every rotation and path of the guards.
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“Daggum scientists!” Penny growled. Hefting her skirts higher, she tore through the brome toward a cluster of cottonwoods. A raspy roar echoed across the open plain, and she glared back at said scientist. “You just had to poke the Prairie Dragon!”
“Actually, dragon is a misnomer,” Benjamin huffed, struggling to keep up.
An ocean of color floods Damien’s eyes as he steps out of the portal. A blinding array of purple, yellow, blue, and white blooms. He frowns.
Irises? Not what he expected. But little about this search has gone according to plan.
Jerking up his binoculars, Damien surveys the land beyond the field of flowers.
“C’mon slow-poke, hurry up. We’re almost there,” Shard called, scrambling ahead. Her claws trampled over the fallen pines.
“Would you slow down?” Krag wheezed. His crooked wing trailed behind him like a torn sail. Why did she always have to rush ahead? As her older brother, shouldn’t he be leading her?
The black owl spoke into Vjun’s ear. “Are you sure you can do this?”
The vampire hunter rolled his eyes. “For the hundredth time, yes, I’m sure.”
He crept up a hill through dark trees, making his way by moonlight, Aryana perched on his shoulder. He held a crossbow, already loaded with a bolt dipped in fae blood.
Most people believe rainbows are formed by light refracting through water droplets. They’re wrong. Rainbows are ingenious GPS trackers developed by leprechauns to locate hidden treasures.
It’s time to test my newest invention and prove my hypothesis.
Astride my Harley chopper, I peer through misty rain, scanning the sky for rainbows.
Nearby pines shiver, wind whipping through frost-encrusted needles. Wrapped in furs, I ignore the breeze. I’ve got more important things to worry about. Breath misting, I hold my bow ready.
In the distance, the arching mouth of a cave juts from the edge of a rocky, frostbitten foothill. A thick splatter of ice rims the rough-hewn edges.
By Deborah Bainbridge I can’t believe I landed my red breeches in detention again. “Dia dhuit!” Mrs. O’Grady, a plump fiery-haired lady, walks past a row of my classmates and removes my green top hat by its gold buckle. “Third time this year, isn’t it, Skylar? You’re seventeen and as mischievous as the next leprechaun.
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Exhausted, Dr. Eitan Broshi clapped his hands together to dispel the clinging dirt from the dig site. His limbs trembled from the long hours of tedious effort. The sun had wandered behind the low mountain, and all his colleagues had long since returned to the camper. Even at this distance, he could hear their drunken debate.
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