We all face certain choices: Life or death, nurturer or destroyer, violence or peace. Each kitsune must choose her own path.
When grown, we travel into the world of Men, choosing a man to bind ourselves to… for the rest of his life. If we choose the path of violence, suffering and death come
Cal Ravenwood would have killed for a cigarette. Much to his chagrin, he was trying to quit. Not so much for health reasons, but because nicotine and the use of magic didn’t mix well. It was one of the unspoken laws of the Dark Matter, the entity from which all magic was born.
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The air smells like history, old paint, and other cats.
Your stomach flips as you look around the basement, the human who carried you down already retreating back upstairs. Cats of varying breeds mill about, lounge atop antique pipes, and nap in the crumbling nooks and crannies of the hall, a patchwork of…
Whoever imagined living on a cloud would be comfortable is an idiot.
Now, obviously, I don’t mean a real cloud. Those are just water droplets suspended in the atmosphere. No. I mean the type of cloud children envision: big fluffy cotton balls where naked babies sporting soft, feathery wings hang out and play the harp.
Gentle waves brushed against the rocks of the southern California beach, the sun dipping into the ocean. Seagulls chattered as they pecked over scraps of food left on the empty beach.
Mariana jogged down the worn boardwalk, her bare feet stinging from the fading heat of the day. Glancing over her shoulder,
“Officer, what you mean I can’t pump my own gas?” The shorter man scowled up from his car, biting off his words. The neon sign of the station flickered on and off while the smell of exhaust filled Officer Ortega’s nostrils.
Ortega sighed. “I’m sorry sir, that’s the law in New Jersey,”
An enormous shadow crossed the plain, extending its darkness in every direction. Eclipsing the warmth of the sun, the object above blocked the light, painting bushes and wild scrub black. The rear portion of the shadow rolled forward like a curtain, forming a visible line between day and night.
The preschooler blinked at the
“Take this,” Mother says, her usually-shining blue eyes muted and sorrowful. “Remember, Lyskkia, you’re not alone. The Allfather is with you, and the land will fight for us as long as we fight for it.”
I accept the staff with both hands, the weight of the ancient, polished wood making this all-too-real.
Carter walks through the terminal doors and blinks. One minute ago, he was stumbling around in the dark, lost in a briar patch along the Appalachian Trail. Now he’s standing in what looks like an airport from the 1970s. A group of stewardesses in robin’s-egg blue uniforms giggle and wave as they pass.
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The waters of Venezia are colder than most people think.
I stare at the Grand Canal two stories beneath me. Waves lap quietly against the dock to Palazzo Grassi, shimmering in the moonlight. Venezia—Venice—is quiet now. The tourists have retreated. The gondolas are docked. Below, a duck nibbles on a forgotten gelato
Although Muir Woods had been closed for a year, I stole through the barricades in the dimness of dawn. No birds sang. No rustling. Only a presence.
As sun rays weaved through branches, so did the whispers. I caught human and woman on the wind’s tongue, and I prayed the forest would reveal what
“Perhaps the necromancer’s asleep?” asked One-Legged Val.
From a distance, the necromancer’s ship looked abandoned, dark except for the giant glowing diamond shining from the masthead like a full moon. The crew of Nevermore floated in deep water off the coast of Dogshead Isle, their lanterns doused and sails tied down, transfixed
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