Brad clutched his rooster, Leopold, by the neck as he trudged up the steep mountain path.
As a farm boy, he was used to long days of hard work under the elements. But the trek up Flaimen Peak always winded him, and he wasn’t looking forward
In her pink dress, with her golden hair, the girl looks like a rose—if the flower was human.
I stepped behind a pillar edging the palace portico as she approached. Dashed inconvenient, but I don’t want to shock her when I turn green and slimy.
She paused on the other side of the pillar.
“It’s dangerous to stay here.” Lili gazed at me with red-brown eyes. “We should go.”
Leave the comfort of Steve and Talia’s house? I had to calm Lili’s fears before she ruined the good thing we had going.
“We’re house flies,” I protested. “If we weren’t meant to live in houses, why call us that?
The kingdom shimmered in anticipation of the king’s birthday, and Blackguard grimaced at the iced cupcakes, foil balloons, and dragon bobble-heads in shop windows. Beneath his stealthy feet, the cobblestones glistened from a recent scrubbing; around the castle’s main courtyard, the lampposts with
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“Padre,” says the outlaw next to me at the bar. “I need yer help.”
Gold glints at the corners of his mouth. He reeks of trail dust, manure, sweat, and tobacco. The bartender bot drifts toward the till and a silent alarm. The conversations
Dee Dalsey was constantly surrounded by heroes. Big heroes. Little heroes. (One that could be either, depending on the need.) Heroes with super strength, super speed, or super senses. Not to mention the whole slew of heroes that could fly.
Yet none
Etta Mae grimaced at the curtain of cigar smoke at the entrance to the Golden Stars Space Casino. Her worn loafers crunched on the carpet.
My engine room floor is cleaner than these carpets. Where are the janitor droids? She clutched her slot machine tokens. Focus, girl. You have a mission.
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The Dark Lord Vangir snapped his newspaper into crisp submission.
All around him, the summery sounds of mountain life hummed. A pleasant breeze brushed through the weave of his reclining lawn chair, working with the goblet of chilled red lemonade in his calloused hand
Someone shrieked. Everyone’s heads, including mine, swung toward the east side of the village. A riderless broom raced westward, skimming almost close enough overhead to part my hair. Something red dripped from its straws.
Some folks in the market square yelped with panic. Others raced for cover. A few flung themselves over their wares.
“Evie! Wake up!” I shake my sister, careful not to touch her skin, and grimace at the new color engulfing her favorite fluffy blanket.
“Tiff?” Evie yawns. I back away. She opens her eyes, takes one look at me, and shrieks.
“Shhh!” I wave my hands, eyes wide.
“What happened to you?” she hisses,
“Mason, what do you think?” Aunt Peggy asks, beaming.
It’s terrible.
Of course, I don’t say that out loud. Aunt Peggy would be inconsolable if I do. So I swallow and hope my face doesn’t express my shock. “Aunt, you shouldn’t have.”
She giggles
“A pinch of mint, a sprinkle of red clover. Three drops of deep golden honey, and the sun-kissed petals of a yellow daisy. The peel of an orange, an azure feather of a bluebird, and…” I gave the cauldron contents a slow stir.
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