I’m going to enjoy shooting Hernandez.
I smile grimly as I run my feather duster along the balcony rail. My titanium blaster is a satisfying weight in my apron pocket. Too bad it’s set to “stun,” not “kill,” but I suppose one can’t have everything.
Twenty feet below me, the brightly-lit ballroom
It was not the way that Geoffrey Owen Davies had envisioned his retirement working out. He had made it to the finish line in the Department of Construction with his home paid for, a lifelong income from his superannuation, and some untraceable accounts in the Caymans. His wife had left some years ago
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I collapsed in the shade of an acacia tree, panting. My legs still tingled from the countless scratchy beards that had stampeded our direction.
Beside me, Archibald Waverly, renowned safari guide and wild mustache expert, lay flopped on the ground, pith helmet askew. “That was a close one.”
It was a moment
Yesterday, I declared war.
On a bugle.
0600. Time for “Reveille.” Our base commander, Wizard-General Lytton, won’t waste even the newest recruit mage on that duty. A simple spell makes the bugle perpetually hovering by the flagpole sound any required call at the proper time.
Until yesterday. Ten seconds into the silence
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“I’m afraid your understanding of the situation’s more muddled than a mojito, darling.” Nash Welter stretched an arm across his desk and flicked his lighter, touching flame to the tip of the dame’s trembling cigarette. “I’m only a hitman.”
The darling in question narrowed her eyes and inhaled deeply, staining the white paper
“So, does the bureau know why they sent us here?”
Sal shrugged while cramming fries in his mouth.
Jane waited for him to swallow. “They said a passing centaur reported all the other wilderkind in the area have gone silent.” She slapped his hand before he grabbed another burger. “Aren’t you worried?”
“It’s all over, Psycho-Metric! Drop the kilobomb!” I practice the command sotto voce as I scan the harbor, searching for the crimson lights of the mad mastermind’s speedboat.
Bloodbath Bridge looms above the dark water, a line of gold lamps tracing the gentle arcs of its suspension cables. Psycho-Metric has commandeered the six-lane crossing, and his goons are
Greg glanced at the clock: a quarter to nine. He could close early. After all, he doubted anyone would saunter in fifteen minutes to closing.
But it’s the principle of the thing. The sign says open ‘til nine. Chin in hand, he flipped a page in his magazine.
The bell above the door jingled
If anything merits some Courage Cordial, it’s a job interview.
I stare at the glass bottle on my shelf, one of many elixirs I’ve created. A sip won’t hurt—it’ll just give me a little confidence boost. And I’ve made hundreds of successful potions before, which is why in thirty minutes I’ll be walking under the
If I told you I’d picked up a girl in the French Revolution and brought her to 1930’s Berlin to assassinate Hitler, you wouldn’t believe me… would you?
“It’s time.” Charlotte Corday’s soft whisper brushes my ear as she accepts a champagne flute from my tray. “Colonel Geissler promised to introduce me to
What human being, given the Gift of flight, would wish he had another one?
You’re looking at him. Er, reading about him.
Does that even make sense? Zoiks. I’m as clumsy with words as I am with people. And I’m clumsier with flight.
I hate heights. I hate speed. I hate the breathlessness
By Ronnell Kay Gibson You give one pink fairy armadillo a belly rub, and now look what’s gone an’ happened—I’ve got an army of the little buggers. The first armadillo showed up a week ago. My dog, Brewser, plum scared the bajeezers outta me when he started barking at the butt-crack of dawn. The border
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