SUBJECT: ARTHUR PENDRAGON
STATUS: ACTIVE
[INITIATING RELEASE]
…
Pale light pierces the darkness, tearing me from slumber. Every fiber in my body ignites with freezing fire.
Coughing, I wake with my face in the dirt, cold and damp beneath me as I struggle to lift my head. The light fades and I’m left…
“Hold on—we’re crashing!” the bigfoot bellowed as he pulled back on the aircraft’s controls.
I tucked my wings against my body and gripped the armrests. Squatch was not our regular pilot, and it showed.
Again I wished that Gob and Flats hadn’t had to deal with the Werewolf Plague of 1346.
It seemed odd that the daughter of Queen Titania considered an app her worst enemy, but throughout the centuries, this fae had never encountered a more devious opponent.
“Don’t be cross just because you don’t understand technology,” Wally, my human thrall—excuse me, he preferred the term flatmate—said. “You see—”
The windship settled in the clearing beyond the edge of the village. Grruha cut the engines, then sat in absolute stillness with his paws still on the controls. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the savannah from the viewports.
The village stood eerily quiet.
“Let’s see what emergency summons us!” Larru was already…
“Kaiju activity in quadrant E74-Delta. Standby for launch, I guess. Ugh, what a pain.” Bossa had no eyes to roll, but the wonky AI’s tone conveyed annoyance well enough.
I settled into the cockpit of my forty-ton mecha, determined to ignore the cold spear of doubt slicing through my mind as the walls of…
The inspector tapped on the microphone. A sharp burst of static filled the room. “All right. We have Prisoner WVM-01 here for questioning. Please detail for our records your involvement in the Silver Bridge Accident on December 15th, 1967.” He flicked on a floodlight, and I blinked behind my night vision goggles.
Read it now
“It’s too quiet.” Uchu leaned forward. The stone palace’s open balcony emphasized the unnatural stillness within the Kwaco. “The animals aren’t speaking, Ayara.” She caressed the feathered head of the red macaw perched on her shoulder. “Where is everyone?”
The bird nuzzled her, burying her beak in Uchu’s long braid.
Though the presence
Leave the dead to their derby, and they’ll leave the living to theirs. The ghosts don’t hurt anyone; they come, celebrate, and leave at midnight once a year. Horse races mean a lot to folks around here.
That’s what the old hillbilly had said as he pumped Reynolds’ gas. But leaving ghosts alone…
After my brother Barney and I complete the second wrapping of tinsel, we spread out Mami’s lock-lid ornament tubs.
Barney nudges me. “So, Arnold, any thoughts on the job offer? I know, you’re an”—faux crystal bell in each hand, he air-quotes—“entrepreneur. You can still be your own boss. A boss that
The swamp has swallowed Mom whole.
I halt, feet lodged in muck. Cleo’s boots clomp clomp clomp as she keeps trudging along, splashing gray-brown water against my pants.
“Wait,” I say.
Cleo grips her pack straps with grime-streaked hands. “You can’t stop now, Clara. Mom needs us!”
If Mom needed us, she would’ve
The confectioner’s window is a mouthwatering sight.
A miniature garden complete with caramel truffle walls, a spun-sugar pagoda, marzipan birds, a rock-candy fountain, and a couple carved from chocolate that kiss one another within the shade of a sprawling bon-bon tree. The whole scene is shaded by an awning to keep the sweets
I stormed up the narrow stair toward the storm-battered castle, the biting sea wind spurring me on.
“Princess, please wait!” my guard, Alloy, called.
Hearing my preferred title only stoked the fire.
The next stair crumbled beneath my boot, and I pitched sideways into open air. The world spun. I caught sight
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