Apparently, poison tasted like cake. The M.A’s—aka Master Assassin’s—butler hovered over my shoulder as I stared down at the remaining crumbs. After I enjoyed every bite of the slice of cake, the butler victoriously announced he’d poisoned it.
What an idiot, a shrill airy voice whispered straight into my mind.
“I’m going to be eaten!”
A frenzied shoulder shake jolted me from sleep. I sat up suddenly, wincing as the baby in my belly gave a swift, protesting kick. My niece, Cha-mi, stared at me with wide eyes.
“Eaten?” I sputtered. “What are you talking about?”
Her eyes welled.
“Seriously? That’s what you’re gifting me?” I rolled my eyes at Amelia.
“What do you mean? It’s a good gift. It’ll keep you alive, right? So we can stay friends. I was worried being a fairy would change things, but if I’m your fairy…”
“Yeah, yeah. I get it. It’s just not what I was expecting.”
“Look at me, bringing home the bacon for my lady!” Fred hung his jacket in the closet and followed me into what used to be my kitchen. He excitedly inspected the enormous metal box that had replaced our cabinets, refrigerator, oven, toaster, blender, and microwave.
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Mind, there’s nothing inherently surprising about finding a drunken old man in the royal garden. I just never expected to see one eating Grandpa’s roses. Horribly undignified behavior for the most respectable house in Phrygia. I leaned over my balcony rail, fumbling through my mental lexicon for the appropriate words to address this situation.
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Few places in Scarabburgh were built for Atlas beetles. Rhino’s Pawn was no exception.
Calvin ducked through the door, taking care not to snag his horns—two on his thorax and one on his head—on the narrow, wooden frame.
A short rhinoceros beetle stood behind the counter, a ring through the horn on his head.
The Skyfolk held no ill will toward penguins. Why would they fear such harmless creatures? In Antarctica and elsewhere, penguins could approach the alien settlers without so much as a second glance.
Thus, the U.N. Military devised a cunning plan.
A human—myself, it turned out—would be mind-linked to an Emperor penguin via psionics.
His journey had been long and treacherous, but Cheddar had found it. An oasis, untouched by man, vast and plentiful. The wasteland of legends. A sprawling pile of rotten garbage more beautiful than all the dumpsters in Manhattan the day after Thanksgiving.
The Great Trash Barrier Island.
Cheddar the Rat wept at its filthy glory.
Sunday morning, Bobby Jo Evans walked into Raiders Donuts and bought every single old-fashioned, jelly, long john, and cruller in the establishment. Armed with her pocketbook and righteous conviction, she knew only two things could kill the holy fire on that sacred day: faith without works and church without donuts.
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As soon as Mister Crockett found that sock on the floor of our dormitory, I knew we were in big trouble. Of all the teachers in the Reformatory School for Troubled Young Monsters, Crockett was the oldest, the meanest, and the wrinkliest.
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Oh, I can already taste our sweet victory! Just imagine the rush, the bliss! That old nudnik Santa will give us elves what we desire. No, what we deserve. Finally, we’ll have—
“They’re coming!” Pint Ree slides down the snowbank. His elfin ears are red with adrenaline, small hands shaking.
I spent New Year’s Eve picking up my body parts from the sidewalk.
The streets were filled with people. It was dangerous to make my way through the crowd, but I wanted to get to the coffee house to ring in the New Year with some friends. When the old woman staggered towards me,
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