The moon bathed the graveyard in silver light, reflecting off the polished marble of younger headstones. The older markers seemed to hide from the light, becoming one with the shadows around them. At least that’s what Cassie told herself as she tripped over the second one of the evening. Cursing under her breath
Read it now
Eat your pies and drink your ale and listen well to this story of wonder, of wooing, of weeping, of weddings, of woe—and of some sneezing.
Turnipton was a simple village. The residents preferred it that way. They grew their potatoes and milked their cows. They had their occasional celebration, but no adventures
Ah, Día de los Muertos. A day we set aside to honor our family members. To spend time with the living. To remember our dead.
Except they’re kind of hard to forget when their skeletons are staring at you from across the table.
“Well, Finny! Have you decided to follow in your pop’s footsteps
When you plan to murder a monarch, the last creature you should ever tell is a tree.
Yes, every peasant child knows you can’t trust oaks, but I had to get the woods involved. You see, fae kings are notoriously bad at dying, and it would be unacceptable for a man of my station
Waves sloshed below the old man as he sat at the pier’s edge, waiting. A face emerged from the sea, her hair as white as the foam on the wave crests.
“It is good to see you, Mr. Crispin. You have the boot?”
Puzzled as he always was during these exchanges, Crispin held it out.
The years haven’t been kind, but—Grete adjusted the eyepatch, making sure it didn’t ride on her cheekbone—kinder than I deserve. She glanced out the grimy window to the alley below.
“Oh, Schatzi, is that scar bothering you again?” Cook dipped her finger into a tin of salve.
Grete shrunk back, wrinkling her nose.
Grandpa steered the hover-boat into a valley where salt and magic crackled around us, parting tall grass like waves in a sea. The clouds grew soupier, and I could feel the fish swarming overhead.
Decades ago, when enchantments slipped from the skies, the world had transformed. Suddenly, magic was real. And we could capture it.
Today was yet another day her curse might lift—and Iris couldn’t let it.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as waves of Priam’s love reached out from his wing of her castle. His affection buffeted like a breeze, twining around her limbs—and tearing into her beast-curse, the curse that
Liam’s arms felt weighted as if carrying bags of sand rather than an empty rucksack. He swallowed back the doubt climbing up his throat.
This was for the best. His brother would be better off in an orphan’s home than homeless on the streets. Liam was only fourteen; he couldn’t provide for them both.
How long have I slept? No matter the amount, it’s never enough.
I rise from my damp bench, searching the edge of the bridge ahead of me.
Why are the nights always so cold when they come here?
Sure enough, there stands a thin, forlorn girl in a windbreaker—useless in this frigid air.
The wood bundle tumbled from Azarel’s grasp and scattered in the snow as Reuel shoved his muzzle into the boy’s face.
“All right, Reuel,” Azarel said. He’d been distracted for merely a moment, checking the sky to see if he could catch a glimpse of the majestic griffons said to make their aerie
We have eyes on the fish. Repeat, we have eyes on the fish.” Haddie Underwood whispered into her wand. Her dark sunglasses tempered the fierce sun, and—mercy—she was sweating something awful underneath her black trench coat.
But today she was a spy and had to dress the part.
“Firstly,
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