Three of the dragon’s heads lunged, spewing noxious fire. Niccolò bellowed, charged between columns of flame, and drove at the beast with his axe. His blows glanced off the scales, then he staggered against the flags of the old church as four more heads lurched around the corner.
Where was Giovanni?
“Idiots!” Admiral Paul Seward exploded as soon as the doors closed behind him, cutting off the hearing chamber with its three transparent sides showing a stunning starfield view and its dreary bureaucratic interior.
His navigator, who had waited outside, jumped straight. “Sir?”
“Turning down humans, the most promising Lightwarden candidates, just when we’re in dire need of recruits.”
Rank upon rank, we stand ready.
Faces set and stern, wings unfurled, eyes locked forward, swords at our sides—though they will dance like flames in our hands at the first sign of trouble. We have seen battle, terrible and costly, against ruthless enemies. We will leap into combat again, if threatened, if met with resistance.
But that is not our mission.
You check your phone. “I have time to read Havok. Always love Wacky Wednesday!”
It’s a dark and stormy afternoon in more ways than one.
“Awkward…” mutters Jed, the new kid at school.
I fumble my keys to let the four of us into the house. “I had no idea a horror movie would end up making us the third wheel.”
The call from steel magnate Charles Weldon interrupted my plans to spend a pea-souper of a morning with two fingers of Jack Daniels and a newspaper. But I knew I wouldn’t regret it when I stepped into the tycoon’s home office. Whatever made one of the richest men in California this jumpy was bound to pay well.
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Kristen yawned and answered the doorbell—fuzzy pink robe and all. A smiling, thin, sharp-nosed man in a garish suit stood on her mat.
“Good morning!” His grin grew even wider. “I represent Catharsis Effigies Inc., and I’d like to interest you in our one-of-a-kind product.”
“Sorry.” Kristen shifted to close the door. “I have a really full day.”
Since the last werewolf outbreak twenty years ago, sightings of the unpleasant beasts have become blessedly rare. So, it was a surprise to find one lounging in our new neighbor’s yard.
Two other canids lounged around, too: a mutt the size and color of a dirty mop, and a sleepy bloodhound.
I was nearly done raking the lawn when someone plump, perky, and purple-clad appeared in a gust right there, scattering leaves.
“Who are you?” I wielded the rake.
She shook a leaf from her skirts. “Your fairy godmother, dear.”
“Fairy godmother—? But I didn’t know fairies were real.”
“That explains your rude surprise.
She turns as I approach. Girl in a tan hoodie with wisps of long blond hair. The way her hood is up, I assume she’s wearing an IdentMask, and I’m right. Black haze conceals her face. Her eyes are red, glowing Xs, and her mouth a sewn-shut line. It’s a cheap, basic mask,
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Eggs are magic.
They seem simple: shell, white, yolk. Cook them scrambled, fried, boiled.
But separate the parts and find complexity. Whites may be whipped into foam light as cloud and stable as glass. Yolks, yellow as sunshine, whipped with oil and lemon juice turn white, or whipped into a bechamel of butter, flour, milk,
An end-of-a-hot-day smell lingers in the air and the scattered clouds turn gold as I set off from my apartment. Easy route for my first run through the neighborhood in too long. The August weather is nice, and I revel in the familiar rhythm of feet pounding pavement.
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Water laps under the pier. It’s a new moon, leaving the night dark. Ropes chafe my wrists—like guitar strings against my fingers, but harsh as the bad memory of yesterday, when this all began.
Busking on the corner near Brown’s Bar, I was getting good Saturday-afternoon tips from sailors off some freighters that’d just come in.
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