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
Yellow police tape crisscrosses the entrance to Buckbean Asylum. The plastic shines under my headlamp: fresh, unlike the torn, discarded scraps half-buried by shriveled-up oak leaves. Though the asylum closed years ago, the structure remains.
So do the spirits of the patients.
That’s the rumor, at least. I’m here to see if it’s true.
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
Comforting scents of spice, herbs, and fruits filled the wood-paneled room, cozy enough to distract from the cold rain—and the woeful news. Mistress Millet dipped a carved cup into the pot simmering over her fire, then shuffled over and set it in front of Ivy, who wiped away a tear she pretended
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“Work the night shift, they said.” Oscar pushed his chair back from the wall of screens. “It’ll be easy, they said.” He wheeled himself over to the small desk holding the telephone and began pressing the number for the tactical team’s head. “Well, in what world is a twenty-foot-tall praying mantis easy?”
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Nan and I were at the hives when the stranger stopped by. “Elias Carver, your new neighbor.” He tipped his hat and nodded toward the gray house on the hill. “Belonged to my late uncle. We weren’t close. I only got word a few months ago the old place’s been empty for years. Now I’m here to settle down.”
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People said the island didn’t exist. But there it was.
A shiver of excitement and pride swept over me as I lowered my chopper. The mysterious disappearing isle had long been deemed a myth, but I’d spent months researching, interviewing witnesses, and hunting the landmass that never seemed to be where the sightings claimed.
The place stank of dreams. Shattered dreams, stale dreams, rancid dreams. And nightmares. I tasted them all the moment I arrived. It was a stagnant sort of taste, like cold porridge served with moldy bread, as though nothing fresh had been dreamed there in ages. Not that I’ve eaten porridge. But I have
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Deirdre stood before me, framed by the mirror, her blue eyes glistening. Typical. She always seemed to be on the verge of tears.
“Nimha,” she called, pressing her hand against the glass.
I emerged through the mirror and slithered onto her hand. “Yes, my queen?”
She stared at the glass. “Who is fairest
The way I see it, you find a giant egg in the forest, you have two options. You break it open or you don’t.
The lodge we’d passed through was easy to see from the edge of the crater. Stand atop a fallen tree and there it was—civilization. Like children in sight
“I’m warning ye Elial, if it happens again, I’ll destroy yer vermin pets meself!”
“My wyrms didn’t touch your sheep, Malchi.” Elial fought down his irritation. This was the second dead ewe found mangled in Malchi’s fields, with neighbors suffering similar losses. No one knew the culprit, but many placed the crime squarely
I stepped into Gram’s room in Sandy Valley Home and nearly dropped my fresh-cut flowers. Gram sat next to the open window, her arm half-buried in a bucket of dried insects and grubs. She tossed some onto the pavement where a crow pecked hungrily.
Hazel, Gram’s aide, smiled at me. “You’re just in time,
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