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.
Read it now
Some people never come out of there,” Jabril said.
Daniel gave him a flat look. “Do you really believe that rumor?”
They stood in front of a neglected library sandwiched between a bank and a corner boutique. Cracks and water stains spread across the faded yellow facade.
Jabril secured his long black dreads
“Bert! Another.”
I throw my empty tankard against the wall, where it clangs and rolls under a table. The customers there give me a look of wariness and move to hide in a shadowed corner. They are the fortuitous ones. Shadows no longer hide me.
Bert gives me a look of disgust as he slams the fresh
Matt Caterpillar raised his guitar, looked out across the crowd at the Garbage Bowl, and heard crickets. And ants. And roaches, beetles, and myriad other insects—all cheering for him and his band.
As he strummed the opening chords of their new ear-worm hit, “Gimme Some Leaves,” he marveled at their
For young Margery Jones, The Candy Shoppe was more than a store to buy sweets. It was a place of opportunity.
When she walked through the gilded doors, sugar and color assailed her senses. Rows of
rainbow lollipops, orange taffy, grass green gumdrops, and striped pickleberries lined the shelves. Tiny planes zipped
Faced with great adversity, most gingerbread men will crumble. But not the gingerbread men of the Cloves family. No, they are tough cookies.
“You ready?” Samuel T. Cloves yelled to his friend Billy.
“I am, but I think this is crazy.” Billy’s frosty mouth quivered on his brown cookie face. He perched on
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