The Whirlpool of Destiny. The ancient scrolls promised that I, Prince Quenton, would find freedom in its magical depths. Instead, as soon as I touched the water’s surface, I emerged through a flash of green light in a room smaller than a servant’s bedchamber.
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What’s a vampire to do when he falls head-over-heels for a girl from a garlic farm?
Brace himself to attend a home-cooked Italian dinner at her family’s, of course.
“We’ve got five minutes. Are you sure you want to go through with this, Vlad?” Sarah’s fingers tap the steering wheel in time with the car’s left blinker.
I’ve always been a people person. But back on July 4, 1976, I became a “We the people” person. The entire country, but especially Philadelphia, had been filled with Bicentennial fever for months, and it reached its peak that day.
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Tom cradled the ruined camcorder in his hands. His research had suggested this secluded corner of North Cascades National Park would be the ideal location to capture footage of a real-life sasquatch. But now his dreams of finding one had been crushed to dust. Just like
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“Don’t. Touch. Anything.”
Jerp twisted his head toward the voice and pulled his appendage away from the marble statue depicting one of the weirdest creatures he’d ever seen. Two legs and only one tiny tentacle between them? Humans were strange.
All six of his mom’s eyes stayed
“You dragged me here against my will and tried tricking me into eating broccoli so I’ll be stuck here forever?” I asked. “Who is going to be seduced by vegetables?”
Hades dropped the broccoli onto the gritty cavern floor. “Your beauty bewitches me and dulls my senses.”
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I’m Frank Pepitone, from the Superhero Accountability Department. SAD is a subdepartment of the Preternatural Hero Force. If you find out you have superpowers one day, don’t hesitate to keep it to yourself.
The world needs more superhumans who mind their own business.
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The best way to stop a museum heist is to get stolen yourself.
In the darkness of the shipping crate, I wait amid packing peanuts and the four-by-six oaken-framed masterpiece that da Vinci painted with his left hand while using his right for a certain other work.
A shaft of light pierces the gloom as a crowbar pries off one of the top slats,
Lenny couldn’t help being the wisest man on Earth. Just as the rest of humanity couldn’t help being deeply and tragically ignorant.
He tapped his fingers against his carefully constructed booth as he sat by the vacant road outside his house.
You’d think the walking public
“We want to purchase explosives for our children.”
Most people, including most fireworks dealers, would wince at that phrasing. Not Louie Blanchard. For one thing, he knew the Pairish extraterrestrials’ translator devices sometimes missed certain subtleties in the English language. For another,
I clung to the yardarm as wind whipped across the deck of Brume de Mer, spraying ocean mist into the captain’s face.
“With a stiff wind and a swift current, we’ll be in the West Indies in no time, lads. Where rum and our profits await!”
Martha scanned the pews as she entered the sanctuary, one hand slipping almost unconsciously into her bag. Her fingers brushed the spines of two books, one as thick as her fist and one as thin as a pencil. The thick one was, of course, her Bible.
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