Zai rotated the pendant dangling from his neck, lost in thought. Clanking shackles roused him, and he glanced at Xander, the drug dealer he’d apprehended in the Ketz District. “Maddening, isn’t it?”
A tall man in a red capitol uniform marched past the cell, and Zai shot to his feet. He slammed his huntsman’s
Zai’s blood pressure skyrocketed at the sight of the woman sauntering into the restaurant, her golden hair wound in a coronet, a faint sneer marring her otherwise perfect face. One look was all he needed to recognize Viola Gill, the galaxy’s most notorious slave trafficker.
He was bussing tables at the Perfect Plate
“Tell us a story, Gwandpa!”
The old man smiled at the two curly-haired kids, Adley and Bianca, on the floor in front of him, a pipe clasped between his fingers. “What kind of story do you want to hear?”
“Tell us another story
Transfiguration Church’s Pasta Night was the same every year: an all-you-can-eat Italian buffet, two hundred parishioners cramming the American Legion Hall, old folks doing “YMCA,” and the 50-50 raffle.
My sister Cecily and I always spent every minute in the bar.
Not for the booze.
Spark scanned the street, a typical mid-town scene: corner bodega, laundry, electronics repair store, coffee shop, all with residential spaces perched above. Nothing to merit the strange sensation prickling him. Several normal-looking people walked by; a couple surreptitiously glanced his way. Spark nodded
Read it now
“Lord Paraguin.” My advisor hurried after me. “We must do something about the land Lord Egerton seized.”
I quickened my pace with a huff. Think! That was never my strong suit, but I was thrust into this role after barely reaching adulthood
“If anyone objects to this man and woman being joined in marriage, let them speak now or forever hold their peace.” The pastor’s gaze landed on the groom, whose yellow ruffled tuxedo shirt peeked from beneath his emerald jacket. His hand shot in the air.
Spark Spaulding lowered his arm and caressed his fiancé’s
Stories filled the living room as Kytt’s parents and friends discussed their experiences during World War II. Parachuting into enemy territory, storming beachheads, firing artillery shells—memories punctuated by coughs from Ruby the parrot, who hated cigarette smoke. Kytt scribbled as fast as she could every bit of conversation in her notebook.
Read it now
People think we hide in the shadows, but they’re wrong. This is the space between light and dark. The Enemy said dark is light to him, but this is neither and no one reigns here.
I peered through the gossamer layer of light into the room, where the body lay, to watch chaos unfold.
“Celia Downing was one gutsy lady,” my partner told our suspect. “The 9-1-1 operator asked who’d attacked her. Her last word was, ‘Kytt.’” Ed pointed at Kytt Windthorn’s childlike face.
Windthorn folded her arms. Her right eye was the same shade of blue as the interrogation room’s walls; her left, the same avocado green
“What in Hades are you doing here?”
Kytt Windthorn scrambled away from the person who had whispered over her left shoulder. She jerked her head, knocking her glasses askew. Kytt turned around and crouched next to a display case of a shadow-filled Palmer’s Jewelry Store. She crossed her arms, a diamond necklace swaying
After all the crap life’s dealt me, I’d developed a motto. When life gives you lemons… steal everything else.
In this city you can shoplift up to one thousand dollars and it’s just a misdemeanor.
You can also steal a heck of a lot more if you’re good at it, and by “good”
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