Before his world flip-flopped, Lachlan Lendur was having a pretty good day.
He delivered a cacophonous shuttle-load of House Azure design assistants and their paraphernalia to the Jade Fashion Expo. He flew toward home in blissful quiet along Azure’s sunny coastline. He watched cat vids. Then the shuttle ruined his morning by rolling belly-up.
“Ah, so this is what that girl meant by ‘Wandering Library.’” I study the dark appaloosa—from the tome-shaped bags hanging from his sides to the book-thieving mud devouring his feet.
Rescuing a horse is one thing, but reading materials?
I stay far away from the thick goop. The earth still squishes beneath my
“Come on!” Kytt grunted as she tugged on the massive creature’s leash. “Just think, one day. Just one day, then we’ll get it.”
The dragon, Fishes, refused to budge. Sighing, Kytt shoved her glasses back and looked over her shoulder at the unblinking orange eyes.
“Money.” she coaxed, rubbed her blistered, rope-burned fingers.
“Kytt! Wake up!”
A sharp slap of pain explodes across my cheek. My eyes shoot open, and I bolt into a sitting position.
“What happened?” I massage a throbbing spot on the back of my head. “My glasses! Where are my glasses?” Panic sets in; I’m as good as dead without my glasses.
Doc Sklodowski’s forehead furrowed as he examined me in Martian General Hospital’s clinic. “I’ve never seen anything like this on a scalp—or anywhere outside of a photo. Are those bruises what they look like, Mr. Enza? They can’t be.”
I winced as my head throbbed. “Oh, yes they can. Let me tell you
“What are you doing?” whispers Joe.
“Sleeping. Until you kicked me.”
“You’re a messed up sleeper, then.”
“Huh?”
“You keep playing footsie and stuff.”
“Gross. I’d never play footsie with a dude. Go back to sleep.”
“What kind of socks are you wearing?”
“Socks? Are you stoned? It’s like forty degrees in here.
“Lendur!”
Captain Donahue, the drill sergeant grandma commanding House Azure’s shuttle fleet, blew into the pilots’ ready room like a southern hurricane.
Lachlan set down his dripping mug and gave her a jaunty salute, left hand behind his back to hide the coffee-stained sleeve. He hated that his boss’s voice made him jump like
“You’re making enough noise to wake the dead,” Dad said from over my shoulder as I upended every bit of stainless-steel-ware in the kitchen drawer, trying to find my giant soup spoon.
“Well, you’d know,” I quipped, “considering you’ve been dead three years.” Then I turned to ask, “What brings you back this time?”
“Supercomputer, notify me when the donuts are delivered!”
I licked my lips as the computer chimed affirmation. Orientation Day was the best. Donuts were ordered for the new recruits, and old hats reaped the benefits. For now, though, I withdrew a file from its stack and skimmed the title.
“Monologue Prompts: In the Event
Joe Enza was a practical optimist. Not in the way other people defined the term as they met with life coaches and plastered their walls with motivational posters. No, he was truly practical. He made his clients look at the proverbial glass as not half-empty or even half-full, but a hundred percent full.
Read it now
“Yo, Enzo! Is it done yet?” The beleaguered customer yelled down through the grate. The man’s week-old musk permeated every inch of his grimy home—even saturating into the floorboards.
“It’s Enza,” Joe Enza whispered under his breath.
Everyone always confuses it. Joe screwed the cap back on the tritium diffuser as he squatted
Addie Thatcher was in the wrong place—according to old people, anyway.
They claimed that on Christmas Eve, every child should be asleep in their bed, but Addie found herself downstairs long before dawn. Giggling, she pointed her flashlight at the foot of the tree where an enormous gold-and-red package sat, screaming her name.
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