At first, Dorian Gray found it intoxicating, being the eternally youthful, dashingly handsome hockey star. Fans mobbed him after games, eager for his autograph.
Competitors who slammed him into the boards, only to see him jump up unscathed, didn’t understand how he did it.
Alice Liddell stood, brushed the dirt off her white pinafore apron, and stretched. That’s enough gardening for today. Her back muscles complained, and Alice massaged the most painful ones with her right hand. Retirement was great. Being old enough to have retired, not so much.
Alice gazed longingly at the forest. What adventures she’d
“It’s for your own good.” Though Alice’s back was toward her, Edith Liddell could see her sister’s stormy expression in the mirror. She closed the door to Alice’s room and held it shut.
Edith bit her lower lip. Surely she was doing the right thing, trying to convince Alice to give up this Wonderland
Colors flickered along the ad wall beside me as a female voice extolled the benefits of a visit to the Olympus Mons spa. You can’t be talking to me.
“Kytt Windthorn!” The AI must have sensed my disinterest, swapping its sultry tone for a knife-edge. “Don’t you want to go to Mars?”
Wan December sunlight shone down on Fairyland, softening the edges of nearby buildings. The clear blue sky boded well for the first day of business at Frank’s Detective Agency.
My detective agency.
I turned toward my desk, clapping my fore-hooves in anticipation. Perhaps my first case would be a big one, like those portrayed
Muzzy from sleep, I worked my way up from under the soil.
The Alarm has sounded! We must rise!
After emerging, I dusted off my tattered clothing, working gently so as not to abrade the grey skin on my palms. My shirt appeared more frayed than last time.
Well, what did I expect?
“Here’s the tracks the thief left, Frank.” Fairyland Hardware’s proprietor Marvin pointed to a muddy patch of ground behind the store.
I ambled over to look. Word about my crime-solving prowess had gotten around. These days, Frank’s Detective Agency was the first stop for most Fairyland folk when they had a mystery to unravel, and that worked for me.
I was about to flip the sign on the front door of my office from “Closed” to “Open” when I spotted a bulky black form on the sidewalk. My heart jumped.
Then I recognized my visitor and smiled.
“Papa Bear! You caught me by surprise.” I swung the door open. “Come in.”
There is one thing about having six ears: sometimes, you overhear comments that weren’t meant for you. Even though I was still snoozing on Hades’ bed, I heard Artemis addressing my master in the living room.
“Do you know what day it is?” I could picture the sly look on Artemis’ face as she posed the question.
Ever since the big bad wolf blew down my house of sticks, I’ve lived in my brother Bob’s brick bungalow. I operate my detective business, solving Fairyland’s strange and varied crimes, out of an office in the back wing.
Like many such operations, Frank’s Detective Agency has had its ups and downs.
On March 28, 2075, opening day for the Galactic Professional Baseball League, I had reason to be well satisfied with myself.
Intergalactic Sports Imports, the company I owned with my friend Ruby Trenholme, had just caught up on the delivery schedule for our first big contract: supplying game balls to everyone from the minors to the majors.
During pregame warmups for the 2035 semifinals, my players couldn’t miss the basket. Shot after shot went up, then swished through the net. That might have made some coaches happy, but I’d seen too many teams have a great warmup and then come out flat.
Besides, I worried about our star player, Jake.
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