It’s an honor being a royal hot air balloon maker. But the conversation occurring around me makes me want to float away from my coworkers and hide.
I only have one thing in common with the other three people working in the sunshine outside Princess Amzho’s castle: a love and talent for our craft.
If anything merits some Courage Cordial, it’s a job interview.
I stare at the glass bottle on my shelf, one of many elixirs I’ve created. A sip won’t hurt—it’ll just give me a little confidence boost. And I’ve made hundreds of successful potions before, which is why in thirty minutes I’ll be walking under the
My father said I’d find my inheritance in the cliffs.
We walked there many chilly evenings before he died. I loved the mighty crash of the ocean against the white rock walls below us. So majestic and haunting.
I always had a feeling this captivating place had something to do with my father’s occupation.
I’m tired of my child coming home bloody.
Our lonely life in the forest hasn’t provided the normalcy I’d hoped for. I’ve lost count of the times Lane has stumbled into our tiny home, crying and scrubbing at the red stains on his hands. I always kiss his forehead, wash the nightmare from
I know the city has turned its back on me, but it’s still devastating when I see my face on a billboard with the words, “Why are we trusting the Blue Bullet with our lives?”
Bitterness stabs my heart as I fly by. The cloud of dust below leads me to my destination: a collapsed building.
What would they do if I stopped showing up?
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 climb higher.
Sweat drips off my forehead, and I look down. Bad choice. My vision blurs, and the clouds below me start spinning.
“Daylin!”
Shut up, Dexter. You’re going to make me fall off this cliff.
After I blink a few times, the clouds are still again. I look up the cliff,
I dart between empty skyscrapers on empty streets. My armor squeezes my chest, suffocating me. Air rushes through the three tears in my glove, stinging the bloody wounds beneath.
Footsteps pound on the pavement somewhere behind me. My pursuer is still on the warpath.
Slipping into a narrow alley, I adjust my gloves.
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