A Gift From Endar-hain
I am a prisoner. My cage is larger than my body, but not large enough for me to spread my wings. It is an indescribable pain that I cannot set myself free into the skies of Endar-hain.
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Playing With Fire
I’m Frank Pepitone, from the Superhero Accountability Department. SAD is a subdepartment of the Preternatural Hero Force. If you find out you have superpowers one day, don’t hesitate to keep it to yourself.
The world needs more superhumans who mind their own business.
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Super Gus, Thou Art Doomed!
The best way to stop a museum heist is to get stolen yourself.
In the darkness of the shipping crate, I wait amid packing peanuts and the four-by-six oaken-framed masterpiece that da Vinci painted with his left hand while using his right for a certain other work.
A shaft of light pierces the gloom as a crowbar pries off one of the top slats,
Under His Nose
“The colonel and I have searched them both.”
I sniffed. “It’s surprising how often people miss essential information when it’s right under their noses—”
“Quinlan!” Colonel Englert intercepted us fifty meters down the corridor, his hair and uniform gray as the station’s walls,
The Bad Taste
Being chased sucks.
Why did I believe my parents when they said we’d be safe in the woods?
“Zombies don’t go way out there,” Dad assured me.
“And it’ll be nice to get away from the madness,” Mom added.
Yeah, well, now they’re zombified just like
The Surrender Weapon
“Our triumph is close at hand, thanks to Dr. Drago!” General Kohl proclaimed triumphantly as he stood in front of the B-17 Flying Fortress, the sunlight reflecting off his bald head. He pointed to a huge, opaque metal cylinder directly beneath the aircraft.
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Superheroes Anonymous
“S.A. meets here tonight.” The crinkled, handwritten sign hung askew on the door. Lucy tapped the edge of the paper, and it instantly righted itself.
As Lucy tugged the handsewn mask over her face, a loose thread dangled in front of one eye. She slipped it under
Invitation to the Manor
The XO-76 Mindwarp “Bookmobile” touched down on page 89 of Charles Dickens’s Best Stories (Hanover House, 1959) with its usual finesse, which is to say that all the bit characters who watched it crash into an unluckily placed fruit stand
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In the Immortal Words
The tip of the civen blade hovered above my loathsome face for only a moment before shattering it. In the same moment, the pressure within me burst. Again and again, I stabbed my proxy monitor in a frenzy that opened a flower of blackness within the frame. My senses dimmed, and I pitched forward into that dark blossom.
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Butter Be Worth It
“Have you found it yet?”
I wince as the prince’s voice shrieks in my ear and adjust the earbud’s volume. “We just arrived, Your Highness. I will keep you apprised of our status.”
“Stop killing Time, Alice,” Topper says from my left as he returns the tin of teleporting cookies to his pocket for
We’re All Impossible Here
The Queen of Hearts stepped over Alice’s corpse, her long, crimson cape trailing across the body. Any true Superior wore a cape, of course. The Queen had written that law herself—partly to prove that, despite Alice’s claims, the girl’s DNA held no potential for Superior gifting.
Beneath the Queen’s boots, the engines of Hearts
Mirror, Mirror
“It’s for your own good.” Though Alice’s back was toward her, Edith Liddell could see her sister’s stormy expression in the mirror. She closed the door to Alice’s room and held it shut.
Edith bit her lower lip. Surely she was doing the right thing, trying to convince Alice to give up this Wonderland
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