Havok Publishing

Pamela Love

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A Word to the Wise

The white door swung open before I could knock. Agent Hutchinson waved me in. “Welcome to the team, Ms. Dying Words Detective.”
“That’s Detective Fernanda Alves.” I weaved my way through the dozen other agents squeezed into the commandeered construction trailer near the zoo’s entrance. “Let me see the footage.”
I wasn’t talking

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The Shoemaker and the Mermaids

Waves sloshed below the old man as he sat at the pier’s edge, waiting. A face emerged from the sea, her hair as white as the foam on the wave crests.
“It is good to see you, Mr. Crispin. You have the boot?”
Puzzled as he always was during these exchanges, Crispin held it out.

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Splint Second

It takes a special kind of stupid to ride a dragon drunk.
Or maybe I rode a drunk dragon. The details are fuzzy. Many things are fuzzy right now, starting with where I am and how far I fell before I landed.
I open my eyes. Currently, they’re the only parts of my body that don’t hurt.

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Predict a Card, Any Card

Trouble started with Miss Herbert’s sixth card.
I do ESP screening, so I’m used to trouble. Psychics are among the few making a decent living in the Depression, which is why people get plenty sore when I tell them they’ve flunked the test. Curses, threats. I’ve dodged punches. Guess I can’t blame them much

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Second Place

Life’s a marathon, and Derek Finley beat me to the finish line. His home health aide, Ms. Baxter, let me in. “He passed just as the clock struck noon,” she told me, lowering the sheet so I could see for myself.
Inwardly, I cursed. I’d heard the grandfather clock’s chimes while climbing the

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The Hologram Hypothesis

Their footwork was flawless. Their abdomens vibrated at just the right rate. They executed each turn with precision. Every eye was on the golden dancers, mine most of all.
I was halfway to proving my hypothesis about bee communication. PhD, here I come.
Dr. Young shrugged. “At least this bee hologram

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S2 Mystery Monday featured image (season 2)


The Main Event: Me versus Sea.
A fight to the finish—probably mine. My opponent is the ocean.
Water’s a liquid? Tell the riptide that. Solid as a giant’s fist, it hauls me farther out every second. To defeat me, the riptide doesn’t drag me under. It doesn’t have to.

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A Handful of Rain?

“Susannah Carey, did you hear a word I said?” Miss Jessup rapped a cane on her cabin’s floor. “Pay attention!”
A glowing coal skidded out of my tongs, landing back in the fireplace. Sparks flew, hot as my cheeks. Truth is, I hadn’t been listening. I was hurrying too much.

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Hearing anything over that wind’s howl is impossible. So maybe I’m not hearing anything. Maybe I’m imagining… something. I’m sure I’m not dreaming. Must check.
Cold floor. Even through my slipper socks, I shiver. As I tiptoe to the window, I keep a hand on the IV stand,

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