“You’re lucky to be alive, Ms. Takkenridge. If your Saint Bernard hadn’t howled so loud that half the block called 911, you wouldn’t be.” Dr. Olivera took the stethoscope out of his ears.
I smiled, proud of my dog that did do something in the nighttime. Good boy, Matteo.
“You’ve been at Saint Luke’s
“Can you get the door, Miriel? Peaches here is a real handful,” Stephanie Brent said to me as she struggled with a little orange tabby. It snarled shrilly and scrabbled at her pink jacket’s collar. Tyler Galaro and his Shetland ponies had already arrived.
We were at Ladbrook Assisted Living—a nice place,
“Good news, Josh.” Despite Mom’s tap on my back, I kept heading toward Olivia, one of my sister’s bridesmaids. Madeline said the blonde was single, and a wedding reception was the perfect chance to meet someone new after my breakup. “You won’t have to spend this evening alone.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
I stormed through mahogany doors into our mansion’s library. Due to my limp, my sensible shoes’ wooden heels hammered an uneven beat on the hardwood floor. My older siblings flinched, looked up from their phones, and winced a bit as I scanned their faces. When we were kids, Milton used to call my current
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At first glance, it looked like just another broken branch—one of many in the forest canopy due to the previous day’s windstorm. However, Phezz noticed it twitching within a tangle of vines in the fork of an ash tree. The Xintixa’s eyes widened. That’s no branch. Too round, too smooth, and there’s straw
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Zai Witz gritted his teeth, bracing himself for the worst as the gray-haired, grim-faced Dr. Fox completed the exam.
“Mr. Witz, you have a third-degree… stubbed toe.” The doctor rolled her eyes. “March yourself out of my emergency department. This is the fourth time I’ve seen you this week over nothing.”
Witz winced.
Zai’s blood pressure skyrocketed at the sight of the woman sauntering into the restaurant, her golden hair wound in a coronet, a faint sneer marring her otherwise perfect face. One look was all he needed to recognize Viola Gill, the galaxy’s most notorious slave trafficker.
He was bussing tables at the Perfect Plate
At best, my Mark 12 Temporal Teleporter had maybe one last jump in it. Any means of controlling my destination’s location or time was lost long ago. But my space shuttle’s equally wonky steering was currently spiraling me into a gas giant
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Leaning against a tree trunk, I nibbled on a roll—all I could afford at the market square—and mulled over how to move on from this village. Cursed to keep journeying lest some disaster befall me—be it a broken bone or housefire
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Stories filled the living room as Kytt’s parents and friends discussed their experiences during World War II. Parachuting into enemy territory, storming beachheads, firing artillery shells—memories punctuated by coughs from Ruby the parrot, who hated cigarette smoke. Kytt scribbled as fast as she could every bit of conversation in her notebook.
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“Celia Downing was one gutsy lady,” my partner told our suspect. “The 9-1-1 operator asked who’d attacked her. Her last word was, ‘Kytt.’” Ed pointed at Kytt Windthorn’s childlike face.
Windthorn folded her arms. Her right eye was the same shade of blue as the interrogation room’s walls; her left, the same avocado green
Doc Sklodowski’s forehead furrowed as he examined me in Martian General Hospital’s clinic. “I’ve never seen anything like this on a scalp—or anywhere outside of a photo. Are those bruises what they look like, Mr. Enza? They can’t be.”
I winced as my head throbbed. “Oh, yes they can. Let me tell you
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