“Whoa, whoa, slow down!” Siobhan tried to calm the hysterical little girl who’d introduced herself as Kate before dissolving into tears. “What happened to your kitten?”
“A sock gremlin took her!” Kate wailed, covering her tear-streaked face with her hands. “I’ll never see her again!”
I floated nervously, trying to hide my twitching tail. To my left, my twin brother Ellion swam proudly, confident—perhaps too confident—that he would be the next Master of the Tide, King of the Merpeople. His soul-bonded shark swam in menacing circles beneath him.
My soul-bond
The market was usually the loudest place in Tabgha, full of fishmongers waving their latest catches, servants haggling over the price of oxen for their masters, and preachers on street corners trumpeting the end of all things. Yosef didn’t mind. The louder and more
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Queen Majorie’s coronation ball had been meticulously planned, down to the minute. Except for the kidnapping.
Marjorie was sprawled in the middle of the ballroom floor, her sapphire blue coronation gown puddled around her. The rest of her guests sat around the perimeter, held in place by the threat of circling black-cloaked figures.
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Scarlet slammed her textbook down in front of the Head T.A. of Color-Based Synesthetics. “Teach me color transfer.”
The tired-looking elf didn’t look up from his book. “Hello to you, too, Scarlet. And no. You can’t learn color transfer for two more years.”
“It’s important, Aeris!”
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“Evie! Wake up!” I shake my sister, careful not to touch her skin, and grimace at the new color engulfing her favorite fluffy blanket.
“Tiff?” Evie yawns. I back away. She opens her eyes, takes one look at me, and shrieks.
“Shhh!” I wave my hands, eyes wide.
“What happened to you?” she hisses,
I jogged to keep up with Mother, my clanging footfalls on the raised metallic walkway nearly lost to the cacophony of the market. The unique technological marvels in the city of Cantabile had convinced our captain to land on this world and let me, the crew’s
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The Agents Against the Abuse of Arcane Accords had originally been pitched as the Break-A-Wish Foundation, but someone thought that might be irreverent, so they went with Quintuple A instead.
Agent Vera Fray, Quintuple A’s best wizard, listened to the morning’s recorded call for clues as
Professor Kaitlyn Valemon turned off the projector and faced her class. “So, if you’re ever in Ireland, make sure to look out for the fairy rings.”
“Have you been?” asked a student.
Kaitlyn’s heart panged. She’d always wanted to go to Ireland to do first-hand research of their myths and fairy tales.
I leaned against one of the many freestanding pillars around the edges of the ballroom, pretending to sip the violet liquid in my cup. Pairs of dancers whirled across the dance floor, feet moving perfectly in rhythm with the string ensemble’s arrangement of a popular tune.
Behind me, trios and quartets mingled at tables
Maire strode through the center of the war camp, head held high, one hand resting on the pommel of her sword. The phoenix crest on her scarlet robes identified her for anyone who still hadn’t heard the stories, and murmurs trailed behind her as people bowed and
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Therrus wanted to hate the cold.
Thick snow spilled over the tops of his snow boots, soaking his socks and numbing his shins and feet. The frigid air assaulted him, stinging his hidden scales and causing his holographically projected skin to turn bright red. He took a deep breath, the wintry Connecticut chill sharp in his lungs
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