Mark hated mass tourism. My boyfriend was a zealous backpacker. He preferred the French word routard, because it implied roads less traveled and adventure under the soles of his hiking boots. We’d been in Indonesia ten days, traveling by bus and train, sleeping in modest guest houses, eating street food, and avoiding selfie snappers.
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A month ago, I wouldn’t have entertained the idea of staying in a foreign national park after operating hours. Now, I was following my sister down a winding trail in the sunset. “Jess! Are you sure about this?”
She didn’t break stride, simply glanced over her shoulder with a smile. “Trust me, Liz.”
Very few things surprised Aoi, considering she was a witch. But she certainly hadn’t expected to be attacked by a sentient teapot when she entered her great-grandmother’s home.
Aoi huddled behind a couch as the tea caddy rolled on its own. The kettle and saucers clattered angrily on top, sloshing their boiling contents onto…
I stand anxiously near the cliff’s edge, not daring to look down.
“What a sight to see, eh son?” My father slaps me on the back. I grasp the metal railing with all my strength, my hands sweating and my knuckles turning white. He reaches up and adjusts his hearing aid. “Time to take
Netsu wiggled deeper into the ferns surrounding a momiji tree and tugged at the orange and red fabric of his haori. Maybe if he burned the fabric with his bearing gift, he wouldn’t have to go in this—What was the right word for this garish garb?
“Shiny.”
Netsu spun around, coming face-to-face with…
They said the Fairy Tale King had gone mad.
The courtiers, led by King Ludwig’s Uncle Luitpold, didn’t bother to contain their disgust anymore. They sneered when Ludwig passed, mocked him and his ideas. They whispered that his grandest creation, Neuschwanstein Castle, was nothing more than a showcase for his lunacy.
I may look like the average Weimaraner, but I play a mean violin. I pick the strings, Scratch strums her zither, and Blizzard keeps time with his hooves. The sun sets on the horizon. Our animal band wraps up another day of jamming together in our overgrown, dilapidated cottage.
I sniff and…
Ty watched his wife pause beneath the ferns, face tilted toward the leafy canopy above. After taking a selfie in front of Blarney Castle, Beth had been more interested in exploring the surrounding gardens than standing in line to kiss the Blarney Stone. After all, who knew how many people had kissed that rock?
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I shuddered as a troll’s roar filled the air. Ocean spray slicked the deck, causing me to slip. I ducked under the swinging fist of another troll, barely visible in the night. My heart drummed against my chest.
We were dead men.
Three hulking trolls surrounded our ship, gripping the masts and…
Miss Perdita Danville crept along the moonlit heath, trailing the large, fluffy cow that guided her, its rope clenched in her fist. A bag of dead mice dangled from her belt. With a sword buckled at her waist and her pocket mirror safe in her travelling coat pocket, she was more than suitably armed
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AMSTERDAM 1857
Ash impersonated the falling of snow as night wrapped its overbearing arms around Amsterdam. This shouldn’t have been happening.
Flowers should have been blooming. Tourists, strolling the marketplace. Festivals, lighting up the city. But none of that was happening.
All because I’d opened that music box.
And now, I had to close
Ding-a-ling. Ding-a-ling-a-ling.
Sofie scowled, set down the new display plaque, and rubbed her ears. This was the seventh night in a row now, and she couldn’t focus with the strange, inconsistent ringing. Some quiet would be nice. She glared at the various bells arranged on display blocks or hanging from black ribbons.
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