Eric marveled at the pink hues of sunrise as they sailed through the sky. “Maybe dawn patrols aren’t so bad,” he said.
Then his stomach lurched as his draconic partner dove.
“Verity!” he yelped, his voice climbing to an octave more befitting
Atlas sat tall on his ten-foot throne and gripped the trident in his right hand. “It is time.”
The throne sat atop the dais; the golden tendrils of the crest swirled like seaweed. The afternoon sunlight glinted against the metal and sent
The prophecy crystal had never been wrong.
Every thousand years, it identified the legendary hero who stood against darkness. Kings trusted it. Priests revered it. The kingdom planned everything around it. So, when the crystal flashed bright gold and projected
Subject: Vincent 14700
Memory Log: 3.16.4027 CE
“Warning. First perimeter wall breached.”
I process this information in five nanoseconds. With only three walls between us and the enemy—and the weapons they stole from us—they will reach us in less than five minutes.
The crypt was cold, as expected. What I didn’t expect as I stepped toward my family’s section was the torch light and the murmured words. Nobody visited this crypt; nobody mourned the loved ones entombed there. Nobody but me, of course.
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Early morning mist hangs thick over my lake. I feel a disturbance in the waters along the shoreline.
Concentrating my will, I see them. Men with thick beards and heavy boots are pushing a small boat off the shore. Two of them row while
It was a simple task, delivering a basket of apples to the Spanish militia. The one duty a woman could perform in Zaragoza. But hidden in her basket, Agustina transported divine Aragon apples, sourced from the local orchard believed to be blessed by saints, that offered
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I’m Frank Pepitone, from the Preternatural Hero Force, Accountability department. Everyone that works for us has superpowers of some kind, but not everyone who has superpowers works for us. The higher ups consider this an inconvenient truth. I consider it about twenty thousand
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When the inspector arrived, the body lay in Pasaje Rivarola, wedged between a municipal bio-recycler and a wall that had been generating targeted ads since 2241. Even dead, Mirta Szulman was receiving offers on refinanced neural debt.
Inspector Dante Foglino crouched over her and lit a cigarette.
He paced outside the wrought-iron fence, eyeing the bright-red brick Victorian mansion as if a monster lurked within. His first time back since…
And his first time seeing her again in many years.
A plaque by the open gate read The Big House: Home for
Ivy’s position afforded her a bird’s-eye view of the most popular path to the Metro Silver Line. It was frequented by visitors to Washington, D.C. as well as commuters from the bedroom community of Reston.
People with shiny objects begging to be reclaimed.
“Shouldn’t you be working?” A familiar voice drifted upward.
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When you’re five, your imaginary friend means the world to you. When you’re thirty-five, you wondered why they were trying to kill your spouse.
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