“You’ve got to be pulling my ever-loving, god-forsaken tail.” Jasper Throe grumbled upon seeing the Gray Book. He unceremoniously plopped down the groceries.
The apples were going to be awfully bruised.
This vellum-covered grimoire had the audacity to splay itself on his kitchen counter as though it were a cookbook.
“Thank you for calling NewU Life Agency, where your dream life is only a phone call away. This is Zoran.How may I be of assistance?” The demon stifled a yawn with a clawed hand.
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“Come on Lianna, I got you.” I gripped her hand as I led her down the boulders. We descended toward a deserted cove surrounded by white cliffs where glistening sand beckoned us to play among the turquoise waves. Wearing flip-flops, Lianna hadn’t planned to do any rock climbing on this trip, but she rose to the challenge with a grin and her teasing line, “I’d follow you anywhere, Bo.”
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He wants to dig up the body.
“This is a bad idea,” I whisper to my father beneath the light of the moon.
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The man stood on my front step, white suit hanging over his unnaturally tall, thin frame, my morning paper in his hand. I pulled my bathrobe tighter and blearily glanced from his rainbow wig to my paper as I processed his greeting.
“So… you said you’re the grim reaper?”
They couldn’t execute my second son because I couldn’t conceive him.
I burned for a second son. I burned like my first son had burned on his pyre: head tilted towards the sky, mouth open and gasping for air, neck tendons standing out like cords as the fire licked his skin and devoured his heart.
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The man came to a stop in a beam of sunlight struggling through the dust-smeared windowpane, and the glow peeled a mask of shadow off his face, revealing white skin pulled tightly over his skull and teeth visible through paper-thin lips.
I clutched the countertop to keep from staggering. Okay. Not Indy. “What are you?”
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Behind me, the aviary had grown unnaturally quiet. Scores of black orbish eyes peeped between the bars of their spacious cages—all looking at me.
When Mystic Critters hired me, they’d warned me that phoenixes are sentient. They’d failed to add that they are shameless eavesdroppers and malicious gossips.
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I’m not seasick—I live on this ship, so you can bet I’ve got my sea legs—but the old hag I stole the chalice from at New Providence must have been a witch. Her nasty shout as I ran made me smirk, but… I’m turning green. She must have cursed me!
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Only someone with a death wish would risk trespassing on werewolf territory during the full moon, but Tari was good as dead anyway.
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In a world where mythical creatures lived and worked alongside a human population, anything could happen, and it usually did. That’s why they called me, Special Agent Ramses II, and my partner, Bernie Clayberg, with Mythical Crime Scene Investigations.
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All Misha had to do was clean up every last bit of the dead dragon, because if even a single cell survived, the dragon could be reborn. This was the last … or was it?
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