Havok Publishing

Gretchen Schloesser

Double Gloucester

Phezznibbet stood on his hind legs and inhaled the scent. Buttery. Rich. Definitely cheese.
But what type?
He sniffed again. It lacked the tangy scent of Roquefort and didn’t have Juustoleipa’s sweet reindeer undertones. Maybe an aged cheddar?
As if on cue, a grumble echoed through his midsection. He was supposed to meet his

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Comic-Con Adventure

“Er’Rets,” I repeat for the third time.
The woman next to me, clearly imitating an over-the-top princess in her bejeweled blue and white dress, runs her fingers over the plaited strand draped over one shoulder. “It’s pronounced ‘Air-ruhn-dale’.”
“I’m not a simpleton. I know the kingdom from which I hail.” My father’s the head

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