The thumb drive is in my coat pocket, slapping my leg with every step as I weave through the hypogeum. The Colosseum’s floodlights illuminate the broken walls from above while small lights along the ground light up the path. Blood seeps from my shoulder and trickles down my arm, dripping from my fingers and…
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Miss Perdita Danville crept along the moonlit heath, trailing the large, fluffy cow that guided her, its rope clenched in her fist. A bag of dead mice dangled from her belt. With a sword buckled at her waist and her pocket mirror safe in her travelling coat pocket, she was more than suitably armed
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AMSTERDAM 1857
Ash impersonated the falling of snow as night wrapped its overbearing arms around Amsterdam. This shouldn’t have been happening.
Flowers should have been blooming. Tourists, strolling the marketplace. Festivals, lighting up the city. But none of that was happening.
All because I’d opened that music box.
And now, I had to close
She’s not there. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly. When I reopened them, the beaked creature still beckoned to me from behind our masonry stove, her clawed hand frantic. Sighing, I stared pointedly at my knitting. She’s not there.
Only, I knew she was.
I just had no idea why no one else
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.
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