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,
Family reunions, am I right?
I stalk through the crowd, the knives strapped to my thighs jangling with every step. Wizards spot me and clutch their oak staffs. Hardened warriors stroke their swords thoughtfully.
Sharp eyes rake me from my spiky raven hair to my black leather boots. I hold my head high.
“9-1-1, state your emergency.”
“Hi, I think I’ve lost my charge,” Bethany said, shoving aside the clothes in the coat closet.
“Your charge, ma’am?”
“Yes. I was hired as an in-home caregiver to Ms. Rose Carterwood.” Bethany closed the closet door and darted back down the green carpeted hallway. “I went to the bathroom
They’d placed me as a grasshopper.
I hadn’t expected anything grand like a butterfly or firefly, but a grasshopper? They couldn’t even fly straight.
Sounds of festivity faded behind me as I stomped through the encampment, blood boiling and wings buzzing. The sound of festivity faded behind me; the last thing I wanted to do was
Nibbs lifted his Medula Inc. mug to his thinning mustache and sighed as the tangy notes enveloped him.
Ivy stuck her head around the cubicle wall. “I wouldn’t drink that. Puck’s been messing with the sugar again.”
Nibbs pursed his lips. He’d had it with that imp.
“I just took Madam Medula her
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