Every siren in Onda’s class had amazing song powers. Rosa could heal. Jewel could create a defensive shield. Even dorky Cosmo had the power to convince the orcas that they would be better off swimming far away from Rafferty, keeping them safe from attack.
All Onda’s singing ever did was put things to sleep.
As the Imperial heir, Sergei received virtually all within our mother’s possession upon her death: title, wealth, lands—even the loyalty of her Court and Council. She ordered them to raise their hands and vow over her deathbed to support Sergei. Such an oath holds more power than any law.
Yet to my mother’s…
Sir Gregory stepped out from behind the overturned table, dusted the ash off his boots, and exhaled in relief. Not even a scuff on the shiny leather. He ran fingers over his cape made from a manticore’s pelt. That, too, was as luxurious as ever. He stared through the broken wall at the departing
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“Wake up!” Mama seems scared as she shakes my shoulder. I hear someone yelling in the kitchen. Mama doesn’t like it when people yell.
“Mama? What’s going on? Why are you scared?”
“Hush, Zephyr. I need you to listen to me closely, okay?” Mama opens the window next to my bed. “I need you
Flames swept across the living room as the young dragon wailed. One fireball incinerated a garland while another illuminated the Christmas tree.
Coppelia Potts stared with mouth agape. She’d have to update her résumé once again: full-time Nightmare Hunter, part-time babysitter, and elder sister to a temperamental dragon.
Coppelia grabbed a blanket
Dr. Miranda eyed the teenager perched before her. Tilli was a wisp of a girl with hot pink hair and delicate, almost pixie-like features. A lumpy, burlap sack lay by her feet. Though she was curious about the bag’s contents, Dr. Miranda decided to wait for Tilli to explain.
“So, what brought you in today…
The swamp has swallowed Mom whole.
I halt, feet lodged in muck. Cleo’s boots clomp clomp clomp as she keeps trudging along, splashing gray-brown water against my pants.
“Wait,” I say.
Cleo grips her pack straps with grime-streaked hands. “You can’t stop now, Clara. Mom needs us!”
If Mom needed us, she would’ve
“Ma’am, we have an issue.” My mousy assistant Anne cleared her throat, approaching my leather chair.
I waved my pen at her before I continued counting sums. “Go on, then.”
“It’s…” Anne gulped. “Scrooge.”
I peered over the edge of my pince-nez glasses. “What about Scrooge? He’s sufficiently corrupted.” I tapped his name
Jagged pumice scraped my palms bloody.
The sword loomed above me. I was nearly within reach. Violet lightning reflected off the four-foot blade. My bearded face stared back at me, distorted by the weapon’s bulging middle.
Almost there.
“Haggai!” Tashmetu’s voice was faint beneath the thunder’s rumble. It mingled with the beasts’ shrieks.
“I don’t want to.” Annie tucked her hands under her arms, backing away from Grandma’s desk, her shoulders hitching up to her ears. “You can’t make me.”
Grandma looked at her with eyes full of sadness. “I know, dear. None of us want to. This is our purpose.”
Annie shook her head
The ring winked in the pale evening light, mocking me for my foolishness. Sure, I didn’t know the difference between a faceted sapphire and a chipped piece of glass, but I’d reasoned such a pretty trinket was worth at least a loaf of bread.
Unfortunately, the baker disagreed. His face was an ugly shade
Most people are skeptical when they hear a sentient cake has a PI’s license, but get your picture in the paper enough, and you begin to gain credibility with a capital C. That, and the delicious smell of my chocolate ganache, is how Agatha Vanderbruin Von Marnestein found her way to my office.
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