Aham drew a deep breath, anxious anticipation swirling through him like dust kicked up across the Sancen Desert.
It’s a race, like any other.
Hasi rested her scaled snout on Aham’s shoulder, as if she sensed his anxiety. The reptile stood twice his height and her girth rivaled a wagon’s. Glorious creatures, cardants
Mercedes held her breath as the airship landed, its solar sails radiating energy. A gangway lowered toward a long line of eager passengers with tickets in hand.
First: board the airship.
She exhaled a slow breath. It had to be this airship, heading for the district housing the prestigious Leric Institute.
I scowl at the computer screen and push my hair out of my eyes, rubbing black-stained fingers on my hoodie. They should be dry, but I can’t leave prints behind. Mrs. Grant—calling her Mom still sounds weird—says dyeing it makes me look like a goth troublemaker. I yank on my hoodie strings. Maybe I am.
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It’s not the end of the world.
That’s what her brother would have said if he were here.
But he wasn’t.
Corbin had been called in to work a late shift at the warehouse thirteen miles away. Nora knew because the GPS locator on her phone told her.
If only her phone could pinpoint the monsters, too.
Light burst across the room, exploding in a shower of sparks.
Chaimon lowered his pen and glanced up from the treaty spread across his desk. Ah, he’s back.
When the sparks faded, a familiar figure materialized. Dressed in a black coat and matching fedora, his outfit looked out of place in the castle’s study where Chaimon’s sword collection covered the stone walls. Then again, a time traveler couldn’t help obscurity.
Don’t think about the portal—anything except the portal.
Elwick swallowed. He gripped the ship’s wheel, desperate to keep his hands from trembling. But it wasn’t the endless ocean, its waves lapping against his ship’s hull, stretching out on all fronts that provoked his fear.
Tamara stood on tiptoe and flipped the switch on the flickering Open sign, officially closing Reused Realities to the public. When it came to repairing and refurbishing virtual reality systems, Tamara needed interruptions at a minimum. Besides, switching between the real world and the virtual almost always jeopardized her productivity.
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Behind me, the aviary had grown unnaturally quiet. Scores of black orbish eyes peeped between the bars of their spacious cages—all looking at me.
When Mystic Critters hired me, they’d warned me that phoenixes are sentient. They’d failed to add that they are shameless eavesdroppers and malicious gossips.
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