In an elevated section of the amphitheater reserved for foreign dignitaries, Sparksworth, Duke of Spauldingshire, watched the opening ceremonies of Ulteria’s annual Festival of the Roses while struggling to resist the urge to chew his fingernails over the true purpose of his visit.
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“We’ve got a fanfiction character on the loose, Agent Spaulding.” Fledgling hands me a dossier.
I kick my heels onto my desk. “And?”
Fledgling’s eyes widen. “And? Regulations state we need to hunt it down before it tangles the timelines, sir!”
“I know
Spark ran through the brush, desperately trying to escape the T-Rex crashing through the jungle behind him. At last, he broke into a clearing. The amulet that the old gypsy had given him provided the only control he had over the curse
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Leaning against a tree trunk, I nibbled on a roll—all I could afford at the market square—and mulled over how to move on from this village. Cursed to keep journeying lest some disaster befall me—be it a broken bone or housefire
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“Champagne.” The steward places my order on the tray table. “Is there anything else I can get you before takeoff, Miss Windthorn?”
“Chocolate.” I give him a winning, closed-lipped smile.
“Of course, Miss Windthorn.”
Lifting my flute high, I whisper toward the window, “Harrison, may you rot.”
I’m determined to enjoy every possible convenience
Ingrid drummed her fingers on the steering wheel. Her eyes followed the steady to and fro of the windshield wipers as they cleared rain from the glass. This would be her final customer before she went home for the night. One more customer, and then she could heat up a frozen pizza and pretend
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“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
My stomach lurched as I peered farther into the yawning mouth of the volcano. One wrong move and I’d fall to my death. Fortunately, this mountain had been dormant for years. I wouldn’t die from magma—but if the jagged rocks didn’t finish me off, the dragon probably would.
Come on, Kytt. Focus!
“Kytt! Wake up!”
A sharp slap of pain explodes across my cheek. My eyes shoot open, and I bolt into a sitting position.
“What happened?” I massage a throbbing spot on the back of my head. “My glasses! Where are my glasses?” Panic sets in; I’m as good as dead without my glasses.
“So everybody was panicking and stuff,” Joe Enza said, his paunchy midsection protruding from under the unit. “Finally I asked them, ‘Did any of you bother to check the breaker box?’ Lo and behold, the breaker was flipped. I wrote the bill, but I made sure to hit them for another twenty bucks just
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I thumb my radio’s call switch with trembling fingers. “Instructor Enza? This is Amy Macpherson.”
There’s a buzz and pop of static. “Yes?”
“There’s a-a small issue with the trans-universal stabilizer, sir.”
“What?”
“A, ah, gorg rat was chewing on the cables, sir. I chased it off, but the wiring sparked and there was
Joe’s gonna kill me for ditching him.
I surveyed the crowd of humans—attendees of the annual Legendary Law Enforcement Ball—craning my neck to see over their heads as I inhaled another small pastry.
Nah, he wouldn’t kill me. That’d be too much paperwork.
Cool night air swirled through the crowded garden,
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