“For too long, the pigs have slammed the door on us wolves. They’ve got us by the chinny-chin-chin!” Burly gray wolf Bigsby Badham paces the stage in a huff before a towering jumbotron showing the rotating logo of his company, Wolf Works. “But this is the year we blow them away!”
The auditorium erupts
I swing to a higher branch, the beast’s massive jaws nearly closing on my tail. Gnashing teeth and fiery eyes lunge high—higher than I’d calculated—sharp claws scrabbling at bark. I’m out of reach, barely, and my fingers itch to slash at it with one of my blades downward to ensure my escape.
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“I can’t believe her!” Dr. Null paced at the lair’s front door. “She said she thought this lair was perfect for us, but she forgot to mention the colony of warmongering squirrels?”
“Calm down, Your Emptiness,” Inferno quipped. “We’ll just evict the Xintixa and the lairs is ours. No wonder the price is low;
Crouched in the underbrush, Phezz sniffed the stagnant air. The stench hung like a poison. It even crowded out the musty scent of the old dog behind him.
He clasped the longest of his antler-handled knives, secure in the bandolier around his chest, but ready to fly free at the flick of a paw.
“Get your filthy hide out of here!” The broom came dangerously close to shortening me by a tail. I dove underneath the table, but I still felt the tickle of its straw.
Now, I’m sure you’re wondering why I was getting attacked by someone with a weapon of mass cleaning. It’s kind of a
“I’m serious; I don’t need a bodyguard.” Moxly scowled, arms crossed. He grunted when Brix swung him around to face the entryway mirror.
“Do you see that face?”
Moxly pulled out of Brix’s grasp and made a point of adjusting his tunic. “I’ve seen it many times, dear brother. It’s mine.”
“Yes. It’s yours.”
“Phezznibbet Maplebark, we’re Xintixa. We’re not meant to be heroes.” Tilly folded her front paws across her chest, pushed her pointed nose into the air, and twitched her bushy hazelnut tail.
“Doesn’t mean we can’t contribute,” Phezz argued. “I bet I’m braver than anyone amongst the larger races, despite being a quarter their size.”
At first glance, it looked like just another broken branch—one of many in the forest canopy due to the previous day’s windstorm. However, Phezz noticed it twitching within a tangle of vines in the fork of an ash tree. The Xintixa’s eyes widened. That’s no branch. Too round, too smooth, and there’s straw
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Zaivar Witz studied the mist dealer behind the counter, wondering if the wizened man could actually help him find a new disguise. Harvesting and selling mist from the kingdom’s shrouded mountains required an unmatched madness. But Zai never cared for convention—if it helped him track down his warrants, why question it?
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The Ghost, an infamous young thief recently turned pirate, walked through the bustling cacophony of Cog’s Meridian on market day.
Polite society knew her by a different name, but she was far from polite society today. Far from expectations and inopportune fiancés.
Beside her, Captain Gearlock kept watch on their surroundings with his clockwork
My photograph hung on the bar’s wall.
“WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE”
“$100,000”
Well, at least it didn’t only say dead. And a reasonable amount of money, too. What had I done this time?
Maybe it was the general stores I’d robbed or the people I’d blackmailed for information. With a shrug, I glanced again
A luminous nymph dashes from the darkening woods, leaping barefoot from log to rock. Her silver hair glows, reflecting the light of the two bright moons above. Her pale, web-like dress snags on a branch as she streaks by. A path of blood follows her as she bolts through the brush.
She is no spirit.
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