Big Ben chimes the hour. One. Two. Three. Four… all the way to nine. Nine in the evening. But it seems darker. Blacker than midnight. Not even a candle allowed. Shadows lie heavy over London, suppressing all thoughts and laughter. I toss off the covers, trying to free myself from the constricting bed clothes.
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Zmey Gorynych stalked through the golden halls of Catherine Palace. Fire burned beneath his skin, and his long fingers curved into talons. He could not tarry in his mission—his true, powerful form yearned to be unleashed. Now that he was no longer tethered to humanity by Alyona’s soft words, her gentle kisses,
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I’ve just collapsed my blind when I realize two things.
First, the bushveld is silent.
Second, I’m being hunted.
If my hunch is correct, I’m being hunted by the same man-eating lion I’ve been stalking for the past three weeks. He must be tired of toying with me. Tired of avoiding my blind.
I arrive in the Valley of the Kings in an air conditioned car. When I open the door, I’m blasted with Egypt’s oppressive heat. Howard’s tent is his only protection from the sweltering sun, but he steps out to welcome me to the set.
He’s a famous, multi-award-winning director, so I’m willing to…
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…
Searchlights lit the night sky, mounted on the aliens’ vehicles that raced over the hill. Iya, ever on guard, barked orders. “Tembo, quickly, to the trees. Tiou, help the young. Indloyu, with me.”
There wasn’t much hope. Someone was going to die. Iya pushed two of her daughters out of the way…
The thing about adventures is they’re only fun in hindsight.
Take last week, for example. My car broke down, which wouldn’t be too special, except it was in a ginormous mudhole. While it was raining. Actually, raining is too mild a description. This was a monsoon.
I stared out the windscreen…
Raiders shoved Dr. Byron Stoneburner into the wooden crate. Hands bound, mouth gagged, the professor squirmed while the sliding lid clicked into place—trapping him within a world of darkness as thudding hammers nailed his coffin shut.
“What do we do with grave robbers?” a muffled voice crooned from outside the box.
I linger in the shadows of the antechamber door. Of all the places a lady should never be, a dank, dark, and—I wrinkle my nose—malodorous cave tops the list.
You’ll chicken out. The mysterious peddler’s voice haunts me. Turn and run like the spoiled princess you are.
I clench my fist…
The clown bolted from the trailer across the open space to the big top and hurdled over the velvet rope at the entrance. Serella only had time to sputter “Hey!” before he was inside. Two men wearing FBI vests followed. She unhooked the rope without a word. Damn. Probably another drug dealer.
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“We hit this gas station”—I point at a crease in the map spread out over the RV’s dining table—“grab food, toilet paper, gas—”
“And slushies,” Martin chimes in.
“—and slushies. Then we hightail it to the monument, here.”
I survey my crew. Martin, my younger brother, looks like a…
Vince was grateful for his wetsuit, even though the frigid waters of the Potomac still stung as he rolled out of his boat that fated January morning. He gasped. Instantly, his bones began to ache.
I’m too old for this.
The sign plastered on a buoy read, “POOR VISIBILITY, STRONG CURRENTS.”
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