Mirrors never show the truth on our birthdays. They show only fractures, pieces that we can almost hide, but never completely.
And this mirror is no exception.
I steel myself before peering inside its depths. Darksouls—the reflected versions of ourselves living in mirrors—have a persuasive air about them.
The king was broken in pieces.
Ezahtira shouldn’t have been surprised. Ever since the gods punished the kings for their corruption, the nation of Cadmar had suffered the Two-Taloned Curse. The First Talon turned each king into a stone-like substance at death, after which he would crumble.
Genies don’t like to be called monsters. We monster hunters like to disagree.
Sure, they’re beautiful. Sure, they’ll give you three wishes. But you have to catch them first—before they mess with your head, or turn invisible, or shapeshift into a scorpion so that you don’t want to catch them.
I saw through everything in that magical ballroom. Chandeliers cast a warm glow, but I knew which shadows would hide me. The orchestra played a lively reel, but I knew the immense pipe organ in the balcony above could be problematic in an attack. The governor’s palace was lit with elegance as I joined Georgianna, Cynthia, Elizabeth and the other ladies in their chatter.
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The crimson explosion filled the night sky, far enough from the city to avoid any damage.
The Silver Guardian wasted no time. The police could handle the cleanup. He might have saved the day, but there was one more life that needed saving.
In a flash, the hero of Invictus City soared through the air across the metropolis, black hair and cape flapping behind him.
I’d been studying the atmosphere for years now. Years. All in the hopes of establishing the data to corroborate the impossible.
But I should explain, I suppose. Over forty years ago, I was born under a perfect dragon storm. According to the experts, that happens only once every hundred years. But I knew it happened more often than that.
She stood before the back alley wall. Chalk and marker, spray paint and ink splattered the bricks, but all she saw was blood. The entire wall oozed it, out of the alley, down the street, and through the capital city. And she could not do a single thing about it.
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An explosion shook the prison compound. Khalen leapt off his cot and sprinted over to the forcefield that served as a door. The guards at the end of the hall were reaching for weapons and bolting toward the outer courtyard.
A brilliant flash came from behind Khalen.
I don’t usually enjoy parties. But a rave? I had to experience one of those.
Hannah dragged me down the coast to a cozy little beachside town removed from society. Cars and RVs were packed into a giant parking lot on the outskirts. People from all over came for the rave.
This should be easy. I am an assassin. He is my target.
Why is this not easy?
Turn around.
I stand in the shadows at the corner of the muddy alley, staring at him. He stands with his back toward me in the dark doorway of a wooden building. The alley drips with sparse raindrops.
An unkempt and rather grisly-looking man slumped in a chair with the computer screen reflecting off his glasses. His elongated fingers began to type furiously at the keys as the clock mocked him with how little time was left.
Dear Mama,
I’m sorry. It’s cold here, the food is bland, even the wind feels listless.
Jaelyn had considered slashing herself with the toothbrush shiv she’d fashioned. But if it were found on her it would be confiscated, and her venture would be over before it even started. The jagged rocks that formed the margin between the exercise yard and the camp’s caustic fog wall would have to do the job instead.
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