Rule one: never let anyone see you put the pickle jar back on the guardrail. Jaxa tugged on her black ninja shirt, which overlaid matching black pants and blended with her dark hair.
Rule two: look epic on every mission.
The still silence dragged at her heels as Jaxa fumbled out of her
Bang!
My shoulders slammed into their favorite indentations on my locker, and I gazed up into Rex Norman’s baby blues for the fourth time since second period. What does Dino King want this time? He’d already taken all my money, my math homework, and my secret snack.
“Hey, dweeb, homecoming pep rally
“I come bearing grave tidings.” Suraeldor the elf swept into the workshop, clutching a candy cane-striped telescope.
Tiggles set aside a half-built jack-in-the-box and focused on his friend. “Can I guess why? Is it because you stole the big guy’s Kringlescope?”
The tall elf handed the device to Tiggles. “Fear not—I will
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Before I give you my full report, let me clear something up: I really do have a trillion faces. Please don’t ask to see them or we’ll be here all night.
I’m aware I only show four faces on my website: one, me, Derek Organ, Private Investigator;
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“Felix!” My human slave sings my name, interrupting my afternoon slumber. I poke my head out from under layers of woolen blankets, reluctant to part from the cocoon I’ve rolled myself into, though my stomach is rumbling from starvation. My nose bobs up and down, searching for salvation, like a life raft filled
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Minotaurs are dangerous enough when they ain’t toting semi-automatics. These young bulls are looking to cause trouble, and I just want lunch.
“My gumbo’s getting cold, Quigley.”
“I don’t care about your stupid gumbo, LaFaye.”
My partner has no soul. He’s crouching behind a wooden shed with me, both of us surrounded
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The official communication mirror flickered into life as I sat in the throne room reviewing correspondence with Prince Corduroy. I may be a princess, but I was also his employee.
“Corduroy,” boomed the Magic Administrator. The most powerful man in Afteria, he always spoke in bellows. “Your latest petition has caught our attention.”
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Donny Chandler would never tell me what I needed to know. Which was why I needed to get the hiccups.
Great.
I slunk into Tornado Taco on the corner of Main Street and Bell Avenue. The last time I was here, I made a complete fool of myself. Not my fault, but still…
“I assure you, Mrs. Marcel, this drought is going to break.” Al Bee Bee Watcher smiled at his landlady. The apartment lobby’s 1920’s décor surrounded him, clashing spectacularly with the modern computer on her desk.
“And I’m telling you, there’s no chance.” Mrs. Marcel shook her head. “Put away your raincoat, Mr. Watcher;
“Would you move, you worthless bag of feathers!” I put my full weight behind the shove I give my gryphon, but it’s no use.
He’s rooted. He’s staring. Strike that, he’s pining. He’s literally wiggling his feathery eyebrows… at her.
My forehead slumps against Griff’s furry shoulder.
Heather Dewslip ambles towards the green,
Young folk these days.
I squint between my window blinds. Amelia has another new beau—a tall, brooding fellow. They walk hand-in-hand down the street toward my house, chatting.
I frown. I haven’t met this one yet. Usually she brings them by for my inspection first, just to be safe.
They stop walking, and he leans down—
Miles—scarab beetle and humble photojournalist—strained to listen. He glanced at the surrounding trees, spectral colossi in the moonlight. A fallen log sat rotting, just ahead.
“I don’t hear anything.”
Calvin—atlas beetle and journalist—stood stock still. His three horns curved upward in a graceful silhouette against the dark horizon.
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