I grip Flor’s clammy arms and hoist her onto my back. Crouching low, I pass rows of straw cottages and head for the gloomy thicket. Flor presses a feverish cheek against the nape of my neck and sighs, her breath sweetened with nopal. Mamá must have coaxed some fried cactus down her throat
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I could feel the kitten’s heartbeat.
That shouldn’t have been possible.
Opening his mouth, the kitten let out a tiny meow, showing off his small pink tongue. I hugged him to my chest and glanced around the alley. We were still alone, unnoticed.
I’d stepped into the alley to adjust my glitching earpiece.
Cyrus Montez knelt by the large print in the mud and surveyed the surrounding jungle. “We’re close.”
The native guide, hoisting a spear and, wearing nothing but a loin cloth, nodded and waved his arm, motioning for Montez to follow.
“The Phoberomys?” Julie Szubanski shouldered her pack and prepared her DSLR camera.
Lykaina slid the box across the desk with a gentle smile. “A gift from the marshes of Hecate.”
Mr. Collins opened the lid and inhaled deeply. His eyes drifted closed. “Fresh cranberries. Marvelous.”
“Perhaps not the bounty one would receive from Demeter…” Lyka spread her hands. “But we share what is ours.”
Dr. Byron Stoneburner made his camp on the side of the Artic mountain. He nibbled what jerky remained in his pack and warmed his frostbitten nose next to the fire, calculating his progress by the aged map in his possession. The yellowing pages had turned brittle in the frosty air, but he had memorized
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Adam observed the flock of pigeons. The whole time he’d been sitting on the rusted park bench, seeds disappeared around only one. The real pigeon ate the seeds he threw at it; the drones just pecked at the ground.
A few drone birds took flight. Adam glanced at his watch. Right on schedule.
Devon threw up his hands. “We’re lost.”
The national park was vast, and we had strayed off the path. He turned to me as if looking for answers. “Should’ve brought the personal locator beacon like I told you.”
Laura walked up from behind, patted me on the shoulder, and waved her cell phone.
“Haddie Underwood, you said you knew how to fly this thing?!” Percival Holmes shrieked over the rush of the wind.
“Funny story—I lied!”
Haddie clutched the neck of the griffin as it plummeted through the sky toward the infamous Harpy Mountain. The bird tumbled, its claws skittering across the rocky terrain,
Sadie gives herself sixty seconds to decide the course of the rest of her life.
Follow the scorched trail or forget her entire investigation.
Arson investigator Detective Sadie Jenkins has spent six months following every lead on the arsons in the Northern National Parks. Though she’s sacrificed countless nights of sleep investigating the
Lyle bit his lip, heart pounding as he scanned the waters for any sign of police boats or security. This trip was a stupid idea. Why had he even agreed to return? He knew the dangers.
Flustered, he ripped the sunglasses from his face and rubbed his burning eyes. Foolish sentiment had clouded
I’m tossed from the charter plane at two thousand feet, plummeting toward the Earth without a parachute. If gravity proves true, I’ll skewer the Alaskan treetops in seconds.
A week in the remote wilderness had seemed like a good idea. It meant time to clear my head. Campfires and hunting. Reflection and recovery
The engine in my mecha whined as its knees strained, taking the last step onto the icy rise. In the grand view of cold white horizons, the Aurora shimmered vivid green overhead. Despite unceasing mortal peril, the endless ice had her consolations.
None of which made it worth it to me.
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