Brava folds her arms and glares at Frana. “Is this necessary?”
Frana scowls. “You aren’t wearing armor to your wedding. I forbid it.”
“I’m a soldier.” Brava glances at the Multiversal Bridal Boutique. Elegant wood paneling, a carved sign that marries electricity and magic. The proprietor’s from a fantasy world, backwards places
“A bowl of stew can’t save the world, sis.”
Miriel Takkenridge slammed a pot on the stove. “How about you leave the world saving to me, Todd?” Frowning, she diced two onions before her eyes had a chance to water. “Unless you’ve been crowned Chosen One in this universe?” Her chopping stilled as she
“Awwww, puppy!”
It was a totally weird thing to hear inside the mall. I turned just as a blur of golden fur burst out of the food court. It sped past me, its coat changing colors as it reflected the neon lights of the storefronts. It looked like the Yorkie mutt from the movie Benji.
“Deedee Takkenridge, where have you been?” Miriel stood, hands on her hips, as her granddaughter rode up on a dog that was more polar bear than man’s best friend. She couldn’t help but notice Deedee looked like a princess from an animated movie she made Miriel watch the other night.
Deedee shrugged, as if
Miriel prided herself on noticing things others didn’t. Like the way the Grieves girl was concentrating more on a young man jogging through the park than on her chess match with the elderly gentleman in front of her. And the way the jogger, when he passed Greives by, gave a slight turn
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Disoriented, I sit up and nudge Matteo’s calico off my pillow. With a grunt and a stiff push, I ease out of bed and pull open the curtain. A hint of morning flushes pale shadows from the woods. With my canvas apron wrapped tight, I pull on the sweater by the door and slide
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High noon at Cato Pass, dust billowing from horse hooves and stalled stagecoach wheels. No wind to blow it down the valley, out of the lungs of the passengers or the outlaws.
Ty herded the travelers against the sheer red walls of the canyon. The driver, his guard, and an elderly woman and her
Good things come in threes, except for when they’re witches. In Miriel Takkenridge’s case, the three people who approached her booth were two witches and one warlock. They stepped across the plain of the pie-judging contest, not with wands ready for battle but with forks prepared for sampling.
Miriel swept back a white lock
Just pick one!
“If I pick the wrong one, everyone dies.” Miriel focused on the bomb in front of her. Sweat beaded her temples. She tracked a green wire as it twisted and dove through the tangle of red, yellow, and white wires.
That one. She took a deep breath, then yanked the wire
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