Lightning slashes the sky. “Walfort, take us back to land!” I yell into the storm. “We’ll look for Bessie another day.”
“Don’t be a wimp, Gwynfar. We told Zofan we would eliminate this sea serpent,” Walfort shouts. “I’m here because I’m a wand master and you’re a mediocre wizard. I’m not even sure you’re
Detective Caspian cupped the brittle gray blossom in his hands. That it had once been a rose was hardly believable. As he handled it, the petals crumbled to ash.
The ocelot beside him nudged his elbow, and he held the mess of gray dust out to the wild cat.
“Leslie, what do you think?”
Mandla is agitated today.
The iksomi’s feathered wings spread to at least twenty paces in width. They block out the bluish light of the twin suns as he stalks across the black sand dunes. When I take a hesitant step forward, Mandla makes a low growling noise in the back of his throat, revealing long, curved teeth.
“Sal, where are we going?” Jane ducked under a branch.
“My cousin Fragar’s lab.” Sal forged down what appeared to be no more than a deer trail.
Jane avoided dew-soaked vines sparkling in the sun. “The third cousin Fragar?”
“Yeah.”
“The crazy, mad scientist, turns-perfectly-good-strawberries-blue one?”
Sal laughed. “That one”
“Sal, why are
Morris stared at the path below and flicked his tail in annoyance. He really wanted to use the canyon pass, but that stupid flying beast with the human face blocked the route.
He growled at the memory of his one attempt to walk through the ravine. Since the beast was part lion
To open the portal, the populace must supply 100 barrels of fresh blood, the bones of fresh game, the cries of the filled arena, and 1,000 gold pieces.
I recklessly charged past the Alchemist Council posters announcing today’s event, desperate to get home. Why had I forgotten to stay at home today? Empty streets
The sun sets, and wispy clouds above me glow a faint orange. This means I now have ’til the break of dawn to find the creature who stole my mother’s soul.
And kill it.
If I fail to reunite her body and soul before the creature returns to its realm with the
Yesterday, Albert Cook offered me a ride home from school. Thanking him, I scrambled into his Pa’s wagon. We talked of that day’s ball game and spelling bee.
Finally, he asked, “Ever see a ghost around your place, Pete?”
I shook my head. “Nope. My grandfolks died there last month, but they’re lying
“Last year, we placed over six hundred kittens into foster care! That’s a lot of names, and we don’t allow any to be reused. Every kitten is unique!”
The bubbly shelter manager flipped to the next slide in her presentation. Everyone in the class gave a drawn out “Awww!” at the collage
I’ve heard it said that fashion is pain, but for me, it could also be deadly.
As a finalist on Model Designer: Olympus Edition, the hottest fashion competition on TV, I was going to have to navigate that narrow catwalk very carefully.
I frowned at the dressform as I pinned folds
I’m sunning myself on a rock when I hear the shuffle of human feet rubbing against dirt. I swivel my head, and my tongue flickers in and out, detecting sweat, cinnamon, and the heady tang of the flowering bidya that Mamua planted just for me by the front of her hut.
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Cyra, how will you do this?
I have no answer to give myself as I trudge across this scorching desert. I only know that I must try. Shimmering columns of heat rise before my eyes. I am tempted—so tempted—to discard the armor that protects my arms, chest, and legs.
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